


summer is the snow season

by geralehane



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, ssau au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:46:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21873895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geralehane/pseuds/geralehane
Summary: "Lost in her thoughts -- although, looking back at what happens next, Lexa’s pretty sure that she wouldn’t have been able to anticipate anyone stumbling out from under the tree directly into her path. She doubts the collision could have been avoided. Not with the speed she was going, and not with the abrupt nature of the person’s appearance.In other words, Lexa manages to smash into someone full speed in an uninhabited forest in the middle of nowhere. And send that someone tumbling to the ground, together with her.“Motherfucker!”“Uh,” Lexa says, because she’s never been sure how to reply to something like that. “I’m sorry.”“You should be,” now that they’ve untangled themselves from one another and stood up, Lexa gets the chance to study the interruption of her jog. The interruption glares back, blonde hair disheveled and eyes blue, electric with annoyance."or, clarke and lexa meet at the lake one summer and fall in love. also, it's an au of an au because i have zero control.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 70
Kudos: 642





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is one of the works i had on my patreon that i will be releasing chapter-by-chapter weekly. yes i'm back for sure which means more new patreon content and more tumblring and general fuckery so come visit me.

Lexa doesn’t usually use the word _hate_ lightly. It’s not a light emotion, in her opinion; not something that could be mentioned in passing and quickly forgotten, and definitely not the word she’d use to describe the way she feels about something as trivial as a season. 

However, after having woken up with beads of sweat trailing down her skin, she’s considering changing her categorization of summer as ‘the least favorite’ to ‘hated with a passion’. 

In other words, it’s hot. Freaking hot. _Fucking_ hot, far too hot, Lexa thinks to herself with the frustration of a dedicated winter-lover. She sits up, swinging her legs over the side of her bed, and sighs as she glances at the clock on her nightstand. Midnight. It’s only midnight and she’s already up, unable to sleep in this heat. Not for the first time, she wonders if she’d be better off packing up and going back home, leaving this lake house behind. She’s not really sure why she agreed to spending the summer here in the first place. Perhaps, it was the prospect of being alone for three months, entirely too enticing for her to pass up. Ever since her father had an epiphany about being an actual parent a couple of years ago, she’s been spending less and less time alone with her thoughts. She likes that time. She’d like to have more of it. 

It’s still nice to have someone come cheer for her during her fencing tournaments. 

But, as much as she likes her father and her stepmother and her stepsister, she does crave her personal space more often than not. Anya - the stepsister - seems to think along these lines, too. Lexa thinks that’s the reason they’ve grown comfortably close over the past several years spent together. That, and Anya’s _zero tolerance for bullshit_ , as the older girl has lovingly dubbed her straightforward approach to pretty much anything. For Lexa, it works perfectly. 

For some - most - of the people, family vacation with all of its members going their separate ways would seem more than a little unconventional, but for them, it makes perfect sense. “We spent the entire year cooped up in here,” Anya has announced at the dinner. “I could use some time away from you.” She showed the ticket to Romania that she’s bought with the money she’s earned working as a barista for the past year ( _killer tips,_ she told Lexa, winking) and the very next day, they drove her to the airport. Anya said it was her graduation present to herself. Lexa thinks she wouldn’t mind doing something like that the next summer. 

After that, it only made sense for Lexa to have a nice little vacation, too. That’s what her dad said, anyway. She was perfectly fine staying at her house. But she was also perfectly fine going away, too. Or so she thought before she encountered this heat. 

She stands up with a sigh and walks up to the window to try and breathe some fresh air. There’s none: the night is still, not a breeze, and Lexa sighs, wiping sweat of her brow. _At least the scenery more than makes up for it_ , she thinks as she looks at the lake that glistens with silver. Full moon meets her eyes when she lifts them up. The sky is perfectly clear, and starts twinkle down at her - myriads upon myriads of them. She won’t get that view back home, even though she does live further away from the city. 

_Changes are good,_ Lexa tells herself, ignoring everything in her body screaming the opposite. _I need change. Even this fucking heat._

***

In the morning, after spending a night full of fitful sleep, she caves and sets to make herself some ice pops for lunch. She’s not one for sugary treats, usually, but she doesn’t think she’ll be able to survive this weather much longer, and nibbling on ice cubes seems weird, even for her. Fruity ice is much better. Plus, no processed sugar - something Lexa’s been avoiding for several years now. It just makes her sick. She doesn’t know why, but she’s grateful for her body not being able to digest it. Her diet is definitely to be thankful for when it comes to her toned, trained body. 

She comes downstairs after a quick cold shower, not bothering to towel herself off, and opens the fridge, fishing out various fruit and berries. The molds are in the freezer, and she takes those out, too. It’s not long before her blueberry and strawberry-banana mixtures are ready - she’s never been happier to own a blender - and she pours the puree-like liquid into the molds, putting them back in the freezer. In this hot weather, her appetite has been steadily growing weaker, but she still makes herself eat one half of a banana before her run. She’s not looking to pass out somewhere along the way. 

The heat welcomes her with its humid embrace when she walks outside, and she grimaces. Maybe she should substitute her job with a couple of swimming laps in the lake. But she can’t break her routine. She’s used to running every morning, every day of every week for the last three years. It makes her feel good. Grounded. Swimming won’t feel the same. Besides, it would be much better to jump in cool water after some vigorous exercise. 

Having decided that, she stretches for a little bit before starting her way towards the small forest. Birds chirp as the trees blur past her, and she smiles despite still feeling uncomfortably hot. She likes the nature. Her house back home is surrounded by trees, too, but it doesn’t feel as… pristine. Intact. Wild, and unbridled, and beautiful, as if telling her it’ll still be there long after she’s gone - after all of them are gone. There’s a certain kind of peace that comes with that knowledge. That something will always be there. WIll always stay the same. 

Unless humans come and wipe it all out so they can build more houses, but Lexa tries not to think of that - and sincerely hopes it won’t happen. 

Lost in her thoughts -- although, looking back at what happens next, Lexa’s pretty sure that she wouldn’t have been able to anticipate anyone stumbling out from under the tree directly into her path. She doubts the collision could have been avoided. Not with the speed she was going, and not with the abrupt nature of the person’s appearance. 

In other words, Lexa manages to smash into someone full speed in an uninhabited forest in the middle of nowhere. And send that someone tumbling to the ground, together with her. 

“Motherfucker!” 

“Uh,” Lexa says, because she’s never been sure how to reply to something like that. “I’m sorry.” 

“You should be,” now that they’ve untangled themselves from one another and stood up, Lexa gets the chance to study the interruption of her jog. The interruption glares back, blonde hair disheveled and eyes blue, electric with annoyance. 

Lexa feels that same annoyance rise deep within her, as well. Together with muted curiosity, because -- well. Even disheveled and dirty, the girl in front of her is… objectively beautiful. She blinks, forcing herself to focus. “Excuse me,” she says, evenly. “But you’re the one who jumped at me out of nowhere.” 

The girl looks like she wants to argue - or punch her, perhaps, - but, just as suddenly as she appeared, she deflates and lowers herself to the ground with a small moan. 

Lexa silently berates her body for reacting to the sound. 

“I slipped,” the girl tells her with a sigh. “I was trying to get down from that hill, and I kinda lost balance and had to run so I wouldn’t fall.” She looks down at herself, one eyebrow raised. “Clearly, that wasn’t much help.” She sighs again and glances up at Lexa. There’s no irritation anymore. Only big, endless blue, and Lexa blinks, again. “I’m sorry I crashed into you.” 

“Technically, _I_ ran into _you,_ ” Lexa points out. She isn’t trying to be, but the girl still finds it funny and chuckles, huskily. Her gaze turns curious as she gives Lexa a onceover, and -- Lexa’s no expert when it comes to people, but she knows what an appreciative gaze is when she sees one. Not to be bragging, but she’s used to them, in a way. She’s also objectively beautiful. 

She steps closer to the girl and gives her a hand that she takes with a grateful smile. A smiles that becomes a wince when she tries to stand up. “Shit,” she curses, glancing down at her scraped knee. “I hope I didn’t sprain it.” 

Lexa squats next to her. “May I?” She asks, gesturing at the injury, and the girl nods. Her blonde hair falls onto her eyes, and Lexa has to suppress the urge to reach out and brush it away. That would be beyond strange of her. They barely met. She focuses on the girl’s knee instead, carefully inspecting it. It doesn’t appear to be swollen, but it is hot to the touch. Probably just a bruise, Lexa thinks with relief. “I don’t think it’s strained. You should be fine by tomorrow, uh--” She looks up again, meeting the curious gaze with her own. 

“Clarke,” the girl says. “I’m Clarke.” 

“I’m Lexa. It’s nice to meet you.” 

Clarke - _Clarke_ , Lexa tastes the name in her mind, imagining how it would sound when she says it out loud - only snorts. “I bet,” she says, one eyebrow raised. 

“Do you think you can walk?” Lexa asks next. Clarke winces again. 

“I doubt it,” she admits. “I’m gonna hop all the way home, probabl -- _ah_!” 

It’s that _spur of the moment_ kind of a decision that Lexa never makes. Never used to make, anyway - yet, here she is, in an uninhabited forest, in the middle of nowhere, with a girl who’s practically a stranger hoisted up in her arms. 

“What -- holy shit.” Clarke swears a lot, she’s noticed in the short period of time they know each other. 

“You’ll have to lead the way,” Lexa tells her. 

“Jesus,” Clarke breathes. Clings to her a little tighter, and Lexa’s not going to deny - it feels nice. Good. “Alright. Just -- you won’t drop me, right?” 

Lexa looks at her. “Does it feel like I will?” 

Blue eyes study her with barely hidden curiosity. “No,” Clarke says, slowly. “Not at all.” 

***

“Nice digs.” 

Lexa snorts. “You’ve never said that in your whole life, have you?” The only response she gets is a twinkling smile and a shrug that’s bordering on coy. She has her answer. 

Clarke’s house turned out to be further than Lexa’s, and so she offered hers. After brief deliberation and a quick onceover probably designed to figure out if Lexa’s a serial killer material, Clarke gave her a nod, and they took off. Well, Lexa took off. Clarke mostly hung on for her life. 

She lowers the girl onto the couch, carefully. Ignoring the look she sends her from under thick lashes is a feat, but she thinks she manages just fine. It _is_ nice to know that the attraction is mutual, though. Lexa’s not quite sure what she’ll do with that information, but it’s good to have it. 

Clarke’s looking around when she comes back with the first aid kit she keeps in her kitchen cabinet. “Are you here alone?” 

“Why, are you planning on robbing me later?” 

She decides she enjoys Clarke’s laugh. It’s warm, and genuine, and a little husky, just like her voice. “I’m not sure I’m able to,” she gestures to her leg. Lexa only scoffs. 

“You’ll be as good as new in a day,” she tells her, kneeling next to her and carefully wrapping her hands around her leg. “It’s just a bruise.” 

“You look like you know your way around this,” Clarke comments as she watches Lexa gently wash the scratches and apply some cream. “Any medical background?” 

“I like sports,” Lexa says simply, focused on Clarke’s injury. “Sometimes, it gets rough.” She finishes with the cream and grabs the bandage, gently, but firmly tying it around Clarke’s knee. She realizes Clarke’s gone quiet only when she finishes taping it. 

Blue eyes meet hers, suddenly dark, almost heavy. “Do you like rough?” 

An interesting choice of question for someone who she’s just met, Lexa thinks, but doesn’t show her surprise. Her hands are on Clarke’s leg, still, and her skin is hot to the touch. Slick, too, thanks to the damn heat. She lets her fingers dance, only a little, for only a second, but it’s enough to make Clarke swallow with visible difficulty. 

“Sometimes,” she replies, softly. And raises to her feet, flashing Clarke a smile as she goes back to the kitchen.

She thinks she hears Clarke mutter _tease_ under her breath, but she’s not sure. She would be right, though. Sometimes, she is. 

When she returns with two glasses of iced tea, Clarke’s reclined in her chair, looking more comfortable. “Oh, thanks,” she smiles as she takes the glass from her. “I didn’t even know I needed this.” 

“Not that hard to guess in this heat,” Lexa comments, and Clarke lets out a short laugh at that. Lexa only blinks. She wasn’t exactly joking. 

Clarke cocks her head to the side, studying her. “Are you always this serious?” She asks, suddenly. 

“I don’t know. Mostly,” Lexa answers truthfully. 

“Oh, no,” Clarke groans, dragging her hand down her face and closing her eyes, as if in utter despair. She’s overselling it, but Lexa has a feeling it’s on purpose, and so she leans back in her chair, opposite of Clarke, anticipating a show. “Don’t tell me you hate parties, too?” She opens one eye, peaks at Lexa from behind her hand, and the entire sight is so ridiculously overdone she can’t help but laugh. 

She thinks Clarke enjoys her laugh, too - at least that’s what her smile tells her. “I’m indifferent, mostly. Why?” 

“Cause you’re invited to one,” Clarke lets her know. Takes a sip of her iced tea and lets out an appreciative moan - the kind that should only sound behind closed doors, really. Lexa blinks and swallows. “God, this is good. Anyway. You’re about to change your stance on the parties.” 

“And start hating them?” Clarke laughs at that, again. Lexa decides to just take it in stride. 

“Well. Why don’t you find out?” 

Lexa watches as blue eyes watch her; watches Clarke’s tongue lick her lips clean, leaving them glistening, and thinks she wouldn’t exactly mind hearing that moan again under different circumstances. “Sure. Why not.” 

***

She's not one for crowds or loud music, which makes her question why did she even bother showing up in the first place. 

She _is_ one for pretty girls, though – and when she finally sees Clarke among the small sea of people, she's immediately reminded of the reason she's here. The blonde doesn’t see her, and she takes that opportunity to take her in. 

And what a sight she is to take in. Lexa’s not entirely sure where to start, and so her eyes practically roam over the blonde’s form. She’s all -- tan toned legs and short white shorts and a sparkling laughter with a sparkling gaze, and Lexa finds herself positively _mesmerized._

It’s been awhile since a girl has affected her in such a way, and they’ve known each other for less than twenty-four hours. It’s -- scary. That makes it all the more exciting. 

Clarke’s eyes find hers as she starts to make her way over, as if sensing her presence – which is ridiculous and Lexa’s probably reading too much into it, but the girl in front of her looks so good she has trouble properly processing her thoughts. Which happens as often as never. 

_Apparently I need release more than I thought._

It’s not that Lexa’s a particularly sexual person – but she _is_ a sexual person, with certain needs, an average sex drive, and deep appreciation for women. She doesn’t _crave_ sex all the time, but she does want it and like it and is, if her bed partners are to be trusted, pretty damn good at it. Somehow. 

Clarke’s smiling at her when she comes up. “You came.” 

“So I did,” Lexa replies, with a small, barely-there smile of her own; and it doesn’t’ escape her notice when Clarke’s eyes flicker to her mouth before meeting her gaze again. 

A boy standing next to Clarke coughs. “You must be Lexa,” he says in a deep rumbling voice, offering his hand for her to shake. “Bellamy. Nice to meet you.” She thinks she wouldn’t describe him as a boy now that she looks at him closely. Definitely older than her; definitely older than Clarke. More than likely that he’s already graduated from college. His palm is slightly calloused and wide. He’s a pretty boy with a pretty smile and a tough build, and Lexa mentally scolds herself for immediately wondering what his relationship with Clarke is. 

She shouldn’t assume. Unless they _are_ involved in a sort of way that doesn’t allow for casual hook-ups on the side. If they are, she’s going to be mildly disappointed. 

“Nice to meet you, too,” she tells him, firmly shaking his hand. Judging by his widening smile, he appreciates it. 

“Well,” he takes a sip of his beer before glancing at Clarke. “I should go check on Octavia. Really not in the mood to bail her ass out of jail tonight. I trust you to show our guest around,” he nods at Lexa. 

Clarke rolls her eyes as Lexa watches them. They are clearly comfortable around each other. _Extremely,_ she’d say. But then again, she’s never particularly comfortable around people in general. “Yes, _dad._ ” Bellamy only laughs at Clarke’s remark and walks away, telling them he’ll catch them later and leaving them alone. Well, as alone as they can be in the middle of a house party. 

“Wanna check out the backyard?” Clarke asks. 

“If it’s quieter than this, yes,” Lexa says the first thing that comes to mind before biting her tongue. Should she really have said that? 

Thankfully, Clarke isn’t offended. She laughs. “Reading my mind.” 

*******

The backyard is much quieter, and Lexa’s grateful. Clarke appears to be content, too. It’s pretty similar to her backyard, with the exception of flowerbeds that are missing here. Lexa started her small garden two years ago, mostly on a whim. She finds tending to it relaxing. But even without her flowers, the scenery is beautiful. The backyards here generally aren’t fenced, and they lead to the woods where Lexa’s met the girl walking next to her now. There are several young oaks – Lexa counts five – and a hammock strung between two of those that are close to each other. She also sees a long table with drinks next to the entrance, along with a couple of rocking chairs. That’s where Clarke is headed, and she follows, trying not to let her gaze wonder to the girl’s swaying behind. 

She fails a couple of times, but no one needs to know that. 

“No, thank you,” she politely declines when Clarke glances at the table full of various bottles and gives her a questioning look. “I don’t drink.” 

Clarke nods. “Juice?” She asks, then. 

“Water’s fine.” Again, Clarke doesn’t seem too fazed by her request, and Lexa decides not to test her limits and keep her particular diet of no processed sugar to herself. It’s not like it matters, anyway. After the summer is over, she doubts she’ll see this girl ever again. Or, what’s more likely, after the night has passed. “Thanks,” she says when Clarke gives her a cup. 

“So.” Blue eyes rake over her, curiously. “What’s your story?” 

Lexa can’t help but chuckle at that. God. They barely know each other. Yet, she was dumb enough to accept an invitation from a stranger. And – well, she can’t call Clarke dumb, even in her head, but – Clarke was naïve enough to offer than invitation. 

Clarke’s lips stretch in a smile, too, as she watches Lexa. “What?” 

“Nothing. It’s just – you invite me over and only _then_ you want to know my story?”

Clarke shrugs. “You don’t look like a serial killer.” 

“Most serial killers don’t look like their hobby is killing people,” Lexa points out. She mentally tells herself to shut it. Insisting on being a murderer doesn’t exactly scream _attractive._ To most well-adjusted people, anyway. By all accounts, Clarke seems to be one of them. 

Again, though, Clarke’s reaction is laughter. “True,” she tells her. “But then that means I could be one, too, and you’re the one in my house surrounded by my people.” 

Lexa glances back at the cabin, just in time for them to hear a male voice yelling _shots! shots!_ at the top of his lungs, managing to overpower the loud bass. “I’d like to think that a good murderer would be a little bit more discreet.” 

“Are you saying I’d suck at it?” Clarke feigns offense. The amusement twinkling in her blue eyes fails her, though. 

Lexa shrugs. “Let’s hope I never find out,” she says, dryly, and smiles when the blonde laughs again. 

“Don’t worry,” she says. “You won’t.” 

*******

They decide to go for a walk around the lake. Somehow, Clarke quickly deduces that the thought of going back in and mingling with people doesn’t exactly excite Lexa, and so she offers they ditch the party altogether. 

“It’s getting boring in there,” she tells her before grabbing her hand and tugging her away from the house. Lexa has no choice but to comply. Which is incredibly easy considering that was the only choice she wanted to have. 

Clarke explains that most of the people at the party are Bellamy’s friends from college that’s located in a town nearby. That’s why they even came to this lake – one of his friends told him about the cabins for rent, so Bellamy invited his sister and her friends to spend the summer with him. 

Lexa doesn’t know how to bring it up subtly, so she goes for direct. “Are you and Bellamy seeing each other?” She asks. To her surprise, Clarke gives her a disbelieving glance before bursting out laughing. 

“I’m sorry,” she says when she calms down, still chuckling. “It’s just – it’s weird to hear that because I’m good friends with him. But no, we’re not seeing each other.” Thankfully, she doesn’t ask why she asked, and Lexa’s more than happy to put the whole thing behind her. 

“How many of you actually live in the house?” Lexa asks as they leisurely stroll through the forest. She knows a relatively safe shortcut to the lake, and Clarke goes with it – neither of them want to take the main road because of how long it’ll take them to reach the water. 

_Among other reasons,_ Lexa thinks as she keeps catching the glances Clarke throws her way. 

“Seven,” Clarke replies. 

Well. That’s – a lot. Their house is identical to Lexa’s in size, two small bedrooms upstairs and a kitchen with a living room on the first floor. How does it fit seven people? Can it fit seven people? 

Clarke must’ve noticed her surprised expression, because she begins to explain. “It’s a little cramped, but it’s also pretty cool. We’re all childhood friends, some of us are actual family. Bellamy’s here with his sister, Octavia. And she’s here with her boyfriend, which…” she trails off, chuckling. “Which is one of the few cons of the whole _cramped together_ situation.” 

Lexa nods. “Can’t imagine.” Which is true on several levels. She certainly knows it would be incredibly awkward if she were to bring a girlfriend to a family vacation, but that’s just because of her family. Although that’s not really what Clarke is talking about, is it? Lexa tries to imagine spending her summer stuck in extremely close quarters with a girlfriend and Anya, and shudders. That would be a disaster. On so many levels. 

“It works out so far,” Clarke shrugs with a smile. “O snatched one of the bedrooms for her and Lincoln, and I’m bunking with Raven in the second one. The guys are camping in the living room. Literally. They have sleeping bags and everything.” She chuckles, suddenly, and glances down at her feet. “And I just realized none of these names mean anything to you.” She almost looks embarrassed – it’s a little hard to tell in the dark. Lexa can relate. There’ve been times where she spent days silently berating herself for babbling in front of people and making a fool of herself. 

Strangely, however, she didn’t mind Clarke’s bubbling at all. “Well, I’m assuming O is Octavia, who is, as I’ve already learned, Bellamy’s sister. Whom I met. I imagine he wasn’t happy about the living arrangements.” 

Clarke laughs, tension visibly fading from her shoulders. “You have no idea. He threatened to throw her in the car and drive home. Wasn’t until – oh God,” she laughs again, interrupting herself in the middle of her sentence. “I definitely should stop there.” 

Lexa watches her. They’ve slowed down to a complete stop while they were talking, and now, they are facing each other, in the middle of the quiet forest, with nothing but trees and moon to keep them company. “Why?” She asks, letting her lips curl in a small smile. That specific kind of smile that got her many compliments from girls she was seeing in the past. _Hey,_ she thinks, _if something works for you, why not use it._ “It was just getting interesting.” 

“ _Just?_ ” Clarke fake-gasps, but her smile betrays her. “Well – it’s nothing. Maybe I’ll tell you about it after we’ve known each other for _more_ than forty-eight hours.” Her smile grows as she stares at her, and Lexa’s suddenly stricken with how _lovely_ Clarke looks bathed in moonlight. Her blonde hair, even up in a ponytail, appears to have flowing streaks of bright silver, and her eyes are a sparkling shade of soft blue as they focus on her, as if just as equally mesmerized. 

There’s a lone blonde lock that’s gotten lose, framing Clarke’s face. And whether it’s the moonlight making Clarke’s skin glow or the night stripping away the usual reservations of the day, Lexa’s not sure; but she doesn’t hesitate as she reaches out and gently, slowly pushes it behind Clarke’s ear. 

Her voice is pleasantly low, huskier than before when she thanks Lexa. 

“You’re welcome,” Lexa replies, almost surprised to her a drop in her own voice. Almost, but not quite. She lowers her hand, and her fingertips are slow as they trail down Clarke’s neck, but only for a fraction of second. Her actions elicit a sharp gasp, and she immediately recoils, worried she might’ve read the situation wrong. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t--” But whatever she’s about to say is caught in her throat as Clarke takes a determined step forward, eyes searching hers. 

“Am I out of line?” she whispers. 

Lexa swallows. “No.” 

“Good.” And then, Clarke is kissing her, and she’s kissing back. 

They stumble, blindly, to the nearest tree, lips still locked as Clarke’s back hits the bark. Lexa briefly wonders if that was too hard, too rough, but Clarke licks at her bottom lip, seeking entrance, and her mind goes blank as she grants it. Their tongues immediately find each other, and she’s not sure who moans first. Probably her. Could be Clarke. She doesn’t know, and she doesn’t particularly care. All she cares about right now, in this moment, is Clarke’s wonderfully hot tongue and soft lips and smallest, sweetest noises she makes in the back of her throat. 

They are forced to break apart when air becomes an issue. Clarke’s blue eyes are dark, almost black in the dim moonlight as she stares at her, mouth open, panting. She thinks she hasn’t seen a sight more breathtaking. Lexa’s hands are cupping her face, and she’s grasping to the hem of her shirt, almost desperately, fingers grazing her stomach through it. Making her shiver. 

“Fuck,” Clarke voices her thoughts. Her gaze is heady, unfocused. Lexa thinks she looks the same. She certainly feels the same. 

“Yeah,” Lexa says. And leans in. Clarke gives way at the first touch of their lips, practically melting into her. Lexa can’t help but note how well they fit together. There’s no awkward fumbling and head-butting, literal or figural, as it often happens during the first time with someone new. In every movement, every gesture, every slide of lips and tongue, they match each other. Lexa finds herself wishing it never stops. 

But, at the same time, there’s an increasing dull ache gathering between her legs as she presses Clarke against the tree, exploring her mouth. This is wonderful, but it’s not enough. She wants to discover all of her. 

Judging by a loud, appreciative moan Clarke lets out when she moves her mouth lower and nuzzles her neck, she doesn’t exactly mind. 

Clarke’s hands tangle up in Lexa’s hair as hers find her hips and then venture up. To the hem of her shirt; under it, slowly, as Lexa gauges the girl’s reaction. Clarke only gasps in her ear and presses closer. She takes that as a resounding yes. Her skin is warm, almost hot to the touch. Lexa softly caresses her stomach, smiling at the sigh she hears before reclaiming Clarke’s mouth in an urgent kiss. 

When she gently cups her breasts through the fabric of her bra, Clarke becomes too distracted to be aware of her nudging her knees apart with her leg. So when her thigh presses into her, she cries out, both in surprise and in sudden pleasure, as she breaks their kiss and looks at Lexa. 

And Lexa struggles to find her voice. When she does, it comes out rough, raspy. She feels Clarke shiver. “Is this okay?” she asks. Searches Clarke’s face for any sign of discomfort. 

Blue eyes are piercing. “Yes,” Clarke breathes out, and cups the back of her neck. “But I need more.” She tugs her closer, resting their sweating foreheads together. Lexa’s eyes close of their own accord. The gesture helps ground her a little more. Tether her to the reality of the situation, which is her holding a beautiful girl in her arms, with the night forest surrounding them. 

She likes that reality. 

Clarke’s breath is hot on her lips. “Now,” she whispers. “Please, Lexa.” 

How can she possibly say no to Clarke’s plea when it’s dripping with need? 

The button of her white shorts pops easily. Almost eagerly, Lexa thinks with a silent chuckle. Clarke’s gone completely still in her hold as she stares at her. Under her gaze, Lexa’s eyes flutter open, and her breath catches in her throat when she stumbles into the pool of electric blue. 

God, she’s beautiful. 

Her fingertips are buzzing with anticipation as they slide against the cotton of Clarke’s underwear. Then, higher, finding the waistband – Clarke sighs when she touches her hot skin, but she doesn’t close her eyes. Lexa doesn’t, either. She wants to watch. 

She hooks her index finger under the waistband and tugs the panties down, only to release it so it snaps against Clarke’s abdomen. At that, the girl huffs. Lexa’s quick to silence her by reaching under her shirt and gently scratching down her belly, back to her lower stomach. There, she lingers as she finds blue eyes with her own. 

Clarke freezes. Lexa draws an invisible circle on her skin before venturing down, without breaking eye contact; and what she finds has both of them gasping for breath. 

Clarke is _soaked._ Her fingers slide through her with ease – she’s so slick with heat Lexa thinks she’d have no trouble fitting three of her fingers right away. The thought makes her knees weak, and she presses into Clarke, trying to find purchase. 

Clarke cries out, grasping at her shoulders. They are at a pretty safe distance from the cabins, but it’s still loud, and Lexa softly shushes her. She swallows and nods, eyes wide and lip bitten. 

“That’s it,” Lexa whispers to her as she slowly rubs her fingers against her, coating them with her heat. “Good girl.” 

Clarke whimpers. Lexa leans in, immediately, catching her lips in a small kiss and nibbling at her jawline as her strokes become more purposeful. She finds the hardened nub and circles it, avoiding putting direct pressure to it for now, and breathes Clarke in. Fresh sweat and coconut – must be her shampoo. Lexa decides she likes it. 

Her other hand that’s previously rested on Clarke’s waist slides lower, past her ass – Lexa can’t stop herself from giving it a squeeze and grins when Clarke moans and arches into her even more – and under her thigh, grabbing and lifting her leg. Clarke gets the hint, wrapping it around her hip. Now, she’s depending on Lexa and the tree to support her. Judging by the wild look in her unfocused eyes, she’d fall if Lexa were to take a step back. 

Fortunately, she’s not going to. She presses even closer to her, putting her hips behind her hand. Then, she starts to rock into Clarke, slowly at first, helping her strokes on her clit. 

By now, Clarke’s almost sobbing, but at least she’s quiet. It’s easy to see how much effort it takes for her to remain that way. Lexa suddenly wishes she could hear her when she’s not restraining herself. 

She also wants to feel her inside. She wants to feel all of her, but right now, it isn’t possible, and Lexa catches herself thinking that she wouldn’t mind repeating it. She hopes Clarke agrees. She probably does, if her whimpers and fingers digging into Lexa’s shoulders are any indication. 

It’s not enough, Lexa thinks. She wants more. 

Clarke whines at the unexpected loss of contact when Lexa puts her leg down and takes her hand out of her panties. Any question – or an angry yell – she might’ve had dies on her lips, however, when Lexa yanks her shorts down her legs, together with her underwear, and hastily helps her step out of it. After, she springs to her feet and catches her lips in a rough, deep kiss, so that she can swallow most of Clarke’s cry. 

She was right. Clarke easily accepts three of her fingers. She goes slow at first, not wanting to hurt her, but Clarke stretches around her in the most delicious of ways. Soon, she can’t control her pace. And it doesn’t look like Clarke wants her to. She tugs her closer and enthusiastically kisses back, a little sloppy and a little messy as she whimpers and moans in her mouth at every powerful stroke. 

_Her back isn’t going to thank her for this,_ Lexa thinks briefly. _Mine’s not, either,_ she adds dryly when Clarke’s hands find their way under her shirt and scratch at her shoulder blades. Even with her blunt nails, it still stings. Lexa welcomes it. In response, she rocks into her harder, faster, latching her mouth onto her neck and biting down, all thoughts of _gentle_ flying out of her head. 

The way Clarke falls apart is as sudden as it is gorgeous. 

Her nails dig into Lexa’s back as her walls flutter around her fingers, rhythm wild and fast, in time with her cries and moans. Lexa’s barely in time to catch her as she throws her head back and starts to slide down the trunk. Her legs are shaking, and Lexa tumbles to the grass with her, allowing her to lie on top of her as she soothingly strokes her back and listens to her moans that slowly turn into sighs and gasps as she comes down from her high. 

She’s still pulsing on her fingers, occasionally, when she lifts her head from where it was buried in Lexa’s neck, and laughs. “Holy shit,” she breathes, lazily studying Lexa’s face. Her fingers absentmindedly play with her hair, and it’s a nice feeling. 

“Yeah,” Lexa says. Just for the hell of it, she slides in and out of Clarke a couple of times, slowly, testing her, and Clarke lets out a gasping chuckle as she grabs her hand, stopping her. 

“I might need a minute,” she tells her breathlessly, smiling. 

Lexa smiles, too. “Noted. If you…” she trails off, studying her, but Clarke only gives her a curious look and another smile. She pushes her doubts away and continues. “If you need more than that, the walk to my house is approximately ten minutes.” 

Clarke’s slow smirk is enough of an answer. 

*******

She leaves just after sunrise, her body carrying Lexa’s touch, both invisible and visible. She’s especially proud of the hickey she left right under her collarbone. It’s a lovely rose color. 

They didn’t talk about next time. Perhaps, Clarke assumes there will be no next time. If that’s the case, Lexa can’t exactly make her reconsider. It’s not up to her, even if she herself wouldn’t mind spending a couple of more nights together. Especially since, after they were finished, she’s half-convinced Clarke’s perfect. She sounds incredible and feels even better, and she tastes -- divine. That’s absolutely the word Lexa would use. 

More than a handful of times during their night Lexa found herself being grateful to whomever decided to build the cabins so far away from each other. She wonders if unapologetically loud sex was one of the reasons. There’s definitely something about having a beautiful girl in your bed while there’s nothing but trees and a lake and lazy summer heat outside. Inside, too, but for the first time since coming here, Lexa actually didn’t mind. She liked lying with Clarke naked in a tiny room as they waited for their hearts and breathing to calm and for their skin to cool off. Both of them slick with sweat and each other. 

It might sound gross to some people – it certainly would’ve sounded gross to Lexa before – but in the moment, it felt… exhilarating. 

She definitely wouldn’t say no to more. 

That’s why, when she sees none other than Clarke walking up to her house later that day, a plastic container in hand, she quickly springs to her feet and leaves the kitchen to open the door. Just as Clarke is about to knock. 

“Oh,” Clarke blinks. “Hey.” 

“Hello.” Lexa suppresses the urge to slowly trail her eyes up and down Clarke’s form. Given that today Clarke’s chosen to wear a short and strapless yellow sundress, it proves to be difficult. “I saw you through the window. Didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“It’s okay.” She watches her fumble with the container. The plastic isn’t see-through, so she has no idea what’s inside, and that, as silly as it might be, worries her. “I was – um. May I come in? I mean, is it okay if I…” 

“Yes!” Lexa shakes her head a little after a brief, surprised pause. “Yes, sure. Please, come in.” She steps aside, gesturing for Clarke to enter. Clarke chooses to walk into the kitchen, and Lexa follows, her interest – and curiosity – piqued. 

“So,” she says after it becomes apparent that Clarke’s not going to do much besides looking around. “How was your day?” 

Clarke faces her, finally, and smiles. It’s a little shy, and she can’t tell if she’s flushed due to heat or something else, but she likes it. A lot. Probably more than she should considering it’s her one-night-stand in front of her. “It’s good, so far. Great, actually.” Her smile is still shy, but it grows. “Thanks to you.” 

“Oh.” Lexa feels her own cheeks flame as well. “I – I’m glad to hear that. I mean – I’ve been having a great day, too. For the same reason.” 

Clarke arches her brow, and she no longer looks shy, just teasing. “Because of yourself?” 

“What? Oh, no,” Lexa chuckles, a little sheepishly, and rubs the back of her neck. “That’s not what I meant. You know what I mean.” She lets her voice drop lower as she studies Clarke. “I had a great time last night.” 

Clarke’s voice grows raspier to match Lexa’s tone. “I did, too,” she says. Lexa sternly tells herself not to be too excited. “Which is why I’m here.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah. I was thinking, and… Since both of us are stuck here for three more months, we could,” Clarke pauses and shrugs, appearing nonchalant, “spend some time together. Sometimes. Um,” she blinks. “Movies definitely make this seem less awkward.” 

Lexa feels her brows rise. “This as in _friends with benefits_ proposition?” She asks, mostly to clarify. 

Clarke chuckles. “Exactly.” 

Well. That was -- unexpected. For some reason, Lexa didn’t think Clarke would want to see her again. She just seems – different from her. Too different. From what Lexa gathered, she’s someone who surrounds herself with loud people and music and laughter and, most of all, spontaneity. She told her she came here on a whim. Last-minute ticket, last-minute decision. She’s someone who’s fine with inviting a complete stranger to her house party and sharing her living space with six of her friends. And Lexa doesn’t even _have_ six friends. 

(She’d like to get to know Clarke better. She doesn’t expect her to want to know her back.)

 _But then again_ , she thinks suddenly, _this isn’t exactly a marriage proposal. It’s not even a friendship proposal._

They did have a great time together. “I won’t say no to that after the night we had,” she says evenly, looking at Clarke, who only smirks back, all shyness forgotten. 

“That would be stupid,” she agrees, nodding slowly. “And you seem smart.” 

“Thanks?” Lexa’s not entirely sure how to take it, so she decides to simply skim over. “Should we lay down some ground rules if this,” she gestures between them, “is going to be an arrangement?” 

Clarke laughs. “I don’t think we would need them,” she says. “I doubt we’re gonna see each other again after summer is over.” That’s right – Clarke lives two states away from her. “Besides, I don’t think I’m the kind of girl you’d have a relationship with,” she notes casually. 

Lexa blinks at that. “What makes you say that?” She asks, genuinely curious. She wouldn’t say she disagrees with her, but… Okay. She disagrees with her. But Clarke doesn’t need to know that. 

Clarke shrugs. “You’re like, the Harvard type,” she tells her. “All structured and serious. And it’s good that you are,” she says quickly when Lexa opens her mouth to ask her just what exactly does that mean. “Especially for our arrangement.” She chuckles, but Lexa doesn’t fail to note it’s mirthless. “I’m definitely not looking for a relationship right now.” 

“Me neither,” Lexa tells her. The words leave a funny taste in her mouth. She ignores that. “But, coming back to the rules,” Clarke snorts at that, but she ignores her, too, “I do have one. No sleeping with other people. I don’t want to catch anything.” 

Clarke arches her eyebrow at her, half-smirk playing on her lips. “I could have something already, you know,” she points out, watching her as she cocks her head to the right. Her blonde locks fall over her shoulder at the gesture, and Lexa sternly tells herself to focus. 

“Do you?” 

Clarke stares at her for a second longer. Enough to make Lexa uncomfortable. She’s fairly certain Clarke’s joking, but she could be not, and that wouldn’t be good since there definitely was exchange of bodily fluids last night. A lot of it. “You should’ve seen your face,” Clarke finally says, cracking up. “I’m clean. Are you clean?” 

Lexa bristles, both in agitation over Clarke’s little stunt and the implication that she might carry something. “This isn’t funny,” she states. More like huffs, really, but she won’t admit that. Ever. “Of course I’m clean. But now, I’m not sure you are.” 

Clarke only grins. “I could show you my test results from the clinic,” she says, taking out her phone. “I just got tested, like, two weeks ago, and you’re the first person I slept with since then.” 

“Oh.” Lexa blinks, pleasantly surprised. “I could do the same thing. Except I tested a week ago.” 

Clarke quirks her eyebrow at that, but doesn’t comment. They both quickly find the letter and silently exchange phones to study each other’s PDF attachment. 

“Alright,” Clarke says once she gets her phone back and gives Lexa hers. “We’re both clean and intend to keep it that way. I say we celebrate.”

“I don’t have any alcohol in my house,” Lexa says, mildly apologetic. “I also don’t drink.” 

Clarke gets a strange look in her eyes as she tilts her head and just studies her, smiling. “Don’t worry,” she says after a beat. “That’s not what I had in mind.” 

“What did you -- oh.” Clarke’s breath is hot on her lips before she can finish her sentence, and all she can do is sigh as she feels Clarke’s mouth press to hers, tongue immediately seeking entrance. 

_Didn’t even have the chance to ask what’s in the container,_ Lexa thinks absentmindedly as she grabs Clarke’s hips and tugs her closer, deepening the kiss. And at the moment, she’d be lying if she said she cared. 


	2. Chapter 2

“I can’t believe I just forgot about them,” Clarke laughs again, and bites into a muffin. “Thank God for Tupperware. Keeping your muffins moist and warm while you’re having the best sex of your life,” she smirks, nudging Lexa as they sit on her kitchen floor, naked and sharing baked goods.

Lex only rolls her eyes. But doesn’t necessarily disagree. It _was_ pretty great. She especially liked the part where Clarke let her _bent_ her over the counter. She’s always wanted to try that, and she’s not disappointed. 

“Oh,” she remembers, springing to her feet. “I made popsicles, do you want some?” 

Clarke stills, a half-bitten muffin on its way to her mouth as she stares up at Lexa. “Um, yes please?” She mumbles around the sugary treat before quickly finishing chewing and swallowing it down. “I’ll take several. My body could use some of those calories back,” she smirks again. 

Lexa has a feeling they are far from done. She’s right. As soon as they finish a popsicle each, Clarke’s hand is venturing down her abs as she looks at her through her lashes, and Lexa thinks she’s dangerously weak for this girl while she watches her slither down her body and situate herself between her legs. 

Clarke’s teeth nip at her inner thigh, and she almost jumps. The blonde grins up at her. “Payback,” she announces playfully. “Someone used my body as a canvas last night.” 

“I have it on good authority that your body – _ah!_ That your body… enjoyed it -- fuck,” Lexa’s panting by the end of her sentence, but she still finishes it, not wanting Clarke to win. Although, judging by her sly smirk as her hand slowly works between Lexa’s legs, she already did. 

“Well,” she slides up to whisper in her ear before gently biting at her earlobe, “you’re not wrong.” 

Lexa doesn’t get the chance to come up with a witty response because Clarke presses a hungry kiss to her core, and all she can do is gasp and spread her legs wider. 

* * *

Usually, Clarke doesn’t stay the night. Although Lexa’s not sure if she can use the word _usually_ when they’ve only been meeting up for a week. It’s always at her house, too, which is understandable. Lexa’s still in the process of discovering her kinks, but she’s pretty sure being watched by all of Clarke’s friends while she goes down on her is not one of them. Of course, they could probably lock themselves in Clarke’s room, away from prying eyes, but prying ears would still be there, and from what she could gather, Clarke’s friends wouldn’t miss an opportunity to tease her in the rowdiest way possible. 

Besides, she’s more than okay with using her house. That way, she’s not the one who has to leave. She did tell Clarke she doesn’t actually have to, though. Sure, the sun is already up and bright when they finish, but it’s still way too early to be wandering alone. When Clarke shrugged and didn’t say anything, she offered to at least drive her to her house. They settled on her dropping her off half a mile away. Lexa’s not sure about the reasoning, but she decides she doesn’t want to get into it. It’s none of her business. If Clarke doesn’t want her friends to know about them, she won’t pressure her. They are not dating, after all. 

Usually, Clarke doesn’t stay the night. But today, the corners of her mouth are downturned as she storms in – Lexa’s grown accustomed to her daily visits, and so she’s stopped locking the door while it’s daylight outside. Today, she attacks Lexa’s lips with ferocity that both excites and scares her. Today, something is off, and Lexa might not be an expert on moods of others, but she’s the master when it comes to noticing change. She doesn’t like most of the changes that happen around her – she’s learned to pick up on even the subtlest of it so she can avoid it. 

Right now, though, she can’t. “Clarke,” she mumbles against her lips as impatient hands start to unbutton her cotton shirt. “Wait. Just – wait.” 

To Clarke’s credit, whatever it is that has her _this_ on edge still isn’t enough to ignore Lexa’s words. She slows down. Scowls, but slows down, and there’s a bitter crease between her brows as she looks at Lexa. “You don’t want this?” She asks, clutching at the front of her half-buttoned shirt. 

Lexa clears her throat and takes a step back. She doesn’t know why, but she cups Clarke’s hands in her own. It’s an affectionate gesture, isn’t it? But they are barely friends. 

She tells herself it’s to soothe her, and doesn’t question whether it’s her place to do so. “I’m not sure you truly want this?” 

Clarke’s face twists with a wry grin. “Are you kidding?” she chuckles. It’s harsh. Humorless. “Have you seen yourself? Of course I want this.” Her hands slide up Lexa’s chest, to her shoulders, and Clarke leans in, but she turns her head and pries her hands off her, as gently as she can possibly manage. _For the wrong reasons,_ she calmly realizes, studying the girl before her. _She wants it, but for the wrong reasons._

Lexa might not be an expert on other people’s feelings, but she can recognize anger buzzing through someone’s veins – and she can also recognize the pain underneath that anger. Causing it. She doesn’t know what happened, but she knows Clarke’s hurting. It’s clear as day as she watches her, and the darkness of her gaze, and the thin line of her mouth. 

_She’s here to forget._

“Something’s wrong,” she states calmly, her gaze on Clarke’s unwavering even as blue eyes flash with barely concealed fury. “You can tell me, if you want. I’m a good listener, and… someone once told me it’s easier to talk to a stranger about some things.” 

Of course, she thinks, she could’ve just let Clarke try and lose herself in this. In her, in them. Isn’t it what she’s here for, anyway? They are using each other, and they were very clear about it from the start. She probably _should_ let her do this. She shouldn’t care. 

But the truth is, she does. She doesn’t know what it means yet, and she doesn’t want to think about it. But she does care. Enough not to let Clarke do this.

She doesn’t avert her eyes, no matter how mad Clarke’s glare becomes. If this is the part where she storms out and never comes back, so be it. She doesn’t want that, of course, but – so be it. 

The girl drops her hands, carelessly, and takes a step back. Inwardly, Lexa sighs. Well. _It’s been a great week,_ she thinks, and tells herself to stay calm. But Clarke surprises her. She’s quite fond of doing that, Lexa’s noticed. 

Blue eyes flutter closed for a brief second, and when they open, there’s no storm anymore. “You might want to make iced tea for this,” Clarke comments as she brushes past her and plops down on a chair. 

Lexa suppresses the urge to chuckle at her defiantly raised chin as she follows her into the kitchen. 

* * *

“This is weird,” Clarke says as they sit in front of each other. Lexa did make the iced tea since Clarke refused to talk without it. She’s pretty sure she just said it because she likes the way she makes it, but doesn’t want to admit it. 

By all accounts, Clarke is a bit of a brat, and Lexa doesn’t know how to react to the realization that she actually likes that. Or, at the very least, is willing to tolerate it. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to just fuck and get this over with?” Clarke continues, squinting at Lexa. “I mean, if you don’t want me, just say so,” she shrugs, and there’s something in the gesture that suggests it’s more than – rather primitive and basic – manipulation. But Lexa chooses not to comment on it.

She gives her the shadow of a smile. “It’s safe to assume that I always want you, Clarke, but what I don’t want is to take advantage of your… vulnerable emotional state.” 

Clarke scoffs. “Okay,” she says. “You’re a seventeen-year-old girl, not a Wikipedia page.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with having an adequate vocabulary,” Lexa bristles, but quickly realizes she’s risen to Clarke’s bait when blue eyes twinkle. “Look,” she says then, sighing. “You don’t have to tell me anything. But if something happened and because of that something you don’t want to go back to your cabin, you’re more than welcome to stay here.” Her lips twitch, amusedly, when Clarke gives her a lewd grin. “I still won’t have sex with you today.” 

“We’ll see,” Clarke murmurs. Lexa’s almost used to the jolt of electricity that runs between them and through her whole body when Clarke’s heated gaze meets hers. Almost. Just as quickly as it came, it goes, and Clarke sighs, rubbing her temples. She looks suddenly tired. Like she hasn’t slept much. And she hasn’t – Lexa made sure of that – but usually, she took a nap at her house afterwards. Right now, it doesn’t look like she did. “I… thanks,” she says, then, quietly. Her eyes have trouble meeting Lexa’s, but they still do, with certain determination shining in them. “I might have to take you up on that offer.” 

“It’s always on the table,” Lexa replies calmly before standing up. “I’ll go prepare your bed in the guestroom,” she explains at Clarke’s confused stare. 

The blonde chuckles. “Wow. You were serious about the dog house, huh.” 

* * *

She wakes up with a start, confused and disoriented. There’s something – someone – cursing quietly in the hallway. No. Across the hall. In the other bedroom. Someone is in the other bedroom. 

Lexa abruptly sits up in her bed before she remembers it’s Clarke. Sometimes, her memory wakes up later than her. 

The floor creaks as she stands up and slowly walks over to the guestroom, knocking on the door. “Clarke?” she calls cautiously. The only reply she gets is rustling and a thud. She doesn’t even think as she pushes the door open and barges in. Clarke’s bed is unmade, but empty. 

All of her residual drowsiness fades as she looks around the room, bewildered. She doesn’t have to look very far, however. Clarke’s face appears outside the window as she dangles from the roof upside down, her blonde hair falling down like a waterfall. 

“Hey,” she says, smirking. “Are you coming up, or what?” 

Lexa blinks. “You do know there’s a perfectly good ladder in the hallway for that?” 

Clarke shrugs. It looks funny flipped over. “I didn’t want to wake you up.” 

“Clearly, you failed,” Lexa remarks dryly. When Clarke only grins, she sighs. “Be right back.” She walks out of her room and heads to the attic staircase, tugging it down and quickly climbing up. Clarke’s method might seem faster – which is debatable. It is certainly much riskier, and Lexa’s not looking forward to breaking her neck tonight. 

Clarke’s already sitting on the roof when she opens the small door and walks out. Her chin is on her knees as she hugs them and looks straight ahead, not even turning when Lexa comes up and sits next to her, crossing her legs and straightening her back. 

“It really is beautiful,” she says quietly, and Lexa is inclined to agree as she follows her line of sight. The lake is shimmering under the moonlight, and the trees are casting shadows both beautiful and terrifying around it. There’s no one around for miles, and those cabins that are visible to them are dark. Sleeping. They are the only ones who are awake, it seems. 

In a way – right now, in this moment, they are the only people in the world. In their small, tiny world surrounded by trees and curling around the lake. 

Lexa blinks at the strange thought. “What time is it?” She asks. Her voice comes out a touch raspier than she intended – still laced with sleep, she thinks, and clears her throat. 

“Around two,” Clarke shrugs. Then, she finally glances at her. The look in her eyes is undecipherable, but – heavy. Intense. Lexa feels the urge to clear her throat again. She suppresses it. “I’m sorry I woke you up. I just… couldn’t sleep.” 

“Do you always climb on the roof when you can’t sleep?” Lexa asks, curiously. Perhaps, that simple curiosity in her voice saves her from making this awkward – from making Clarke feel guilty and unnecessarily apologetic. She doesn’t really mind being woken up. Not at all. 

Clarke lets out a soft, short laugh. “Definitely not at home,” she tells her. Her laughter fades into a smile. “But here – sometimes. Mostly out of common courtesy. My current roommate has… needs.” 

“Oh,” Lexa says, mostly because she doesn’t really know what else she’s supposed to say. 

“Yeah,” Clarke breathes out. Her smile fades, too. Lexa watches her throat bob as she swallows and looks away again, a brief frown marring her features. “In a way, that’s kind of the reason I ambushed you today.” 

She blinks. “You were aggravated because they kicked you out of your room to have sex?” She can understand that, but she doubts _that’s_ the reason. Although she doesn’t know Clarke very well. 

Another burst of soft laughter tumbles from Clarke’s lips, but this time, it’s humorless. “Not really, no,” she says. Then, she sighs, rubbing her face. “I just – ugh. Fuck it. I’ll just tell you.” Lexa doesn’t make a noise as she watches her with what she hopes is an encouraging expression. Not that it matters, because Clarke’s not looking at her anymore. “People I’m here with – they are not just friends. I mean. Some of them. One of them is my ex,” she sighs again, and it’s aggravated. “And another one is my friend who’s also his ex.” She pauses, for a long moment, and Lexa’s already made peace with the fact that she probably won’t hear anything more from this. But she continues. “Raven and I have been friends since middle school.” Her voice is quiet, almost monotone. As if she’s reciting a poem she’s read a hundred times before. “In high school, she started seeing this guy. Wouldn’t tell us about him. Something about keeping him to herself for a while. I didn’t press her, because I felt that would be hypocritical of me, since I was also secretly dating a guy at the time. Secretly because he was from our friend group. You know how when friends start dating and they don’t want to tell their other friends at first?” She glances at Lexa, who just nods. She doesn’t really know, but she doesn’t want to interrupt Clarke while she’s getting things off her chest. “Yeah. Stupid, I know. Even more stupid when we found out we were seeing the same fucking guy,” she smirks. “It’s kind of funny now that I think about it. How could we not see that? He’s been fucking us over the entire time. He told us he couldn’t choose. That he loved us both, and that he was sorry. I was in shock.” Her smirk grows a bit wider. “Raven punched him. Broke his nose.” 

“I can’t say I blame her,” Lexa says when it’s clear Clarke’s not going to continue. “And is he – here? With you?” the obvious _why_ is at the tip of her tongue, but she holds it. Not her place to pry, or to judge. She’s here to listen. 

“I told you he’s from our friend group, and we’re one big dysfunctional family,” Clarke replies to her unasked question. “Raven knows him since kindergarten, and so do Bell and O. I’m the one who joined a little later.” Her smirk becomes wry. “I’m also technically the other woman in this situation. Turns out Raven started dating Finn a couple of months earlier than I did.” 

Lexa blinks, clasping her hands together. The story isn’t particularly unusual, but it’s not ordinary, either. She thinks she’d like to see this… Finn guy. And Raven, too. Because – how could _Clarke_ be the other woman? Be… sidelined for someone else? 

“Besides, it was more than a year ago,” Clarke shrugs. “Water under the bridge and all that. That’s not why I came here tonight. I came here because I saw them. Together. In the woods,” she smirks again, but it’s simmering with anger. “They didn’t see me. I just ran. I don’t know if they saw me after that, and I don’t think I care.” She glances down at her feet, and Lexa realizes the tale is over.

“Were you…” she trails off, trying to figure out the way to phrase her question better and ignoring the tense coiling in the stomach at the thought she’s about to voice. “Do you still have feelings for… Finn?” 

Clarke shakes her head, slowly. “No, that’s not it,” she breathes out, and it sounds tired. Weary. “I’m not jealous. I don’t think I even liked Finn like that. The idea of him, sure, but not him, if that makes sense. I was just – so fucking angry, you know?” She looks up at Lexa, and Lexa has to restrain herself from sliding closer to her and wrap her in her embrace. She’s not sure Clarke will appreciate being touched right now – by an almost stranger, no less. “After everything he’s done, she still chose him,” she says, quietly. “And it fucking sucks.” 

“She’s an idiot,” Lexa says without thinking. It just bursts out, of its own accord, and Clarke’s eyes flash with something other than exhaustion and sadness, and the words just keep coming. “Both of them are. Because… you’re—” 

She has to stop. 

Clarke’s eyes are a new, sparkling shade of blue as she studies her. She clears her throat. “I’m bad with emotions,” she tells her, honestly. Clarke doesn’t look away. Doesn’t frown. “So I’m definitely the last person to ask for advice when it comes to feelings. All I can say is – they are idiots. And you’re… You’re more than welcome to stay for as long as you want. I do have a spare room.” 

Clarke’s gaze grows warm, slowly. Lexa feels as if it envelops her, not unlike the heat surrounding them, but much more pleasant. Not entirely unwelcomed. “Thank you,” she says, her eyes still locked with Lexa’s. 

“You’re welcome,” Lexa says, more on autopilot than anything. She doesn’t move when Clarke leans in and brushes her lips against hers in a sweet kiss that has her stomach coiling tighter. She doesn’t move when Clarke pulls away, with a smile to match the softness of her lips, and lays down, looking up at the sky. Somehow, it feels like something will break if she does. Perhaps, their newfound trust, still small and fragile. 

They stay like this for a long time, Lexa watching the lake and Clarke watching the stars. 


	3. Chapter 3

Clarke doesn’t move in per se. Only – in a sense. In a certain sense. In a sense of spending the nights and the mornings and the evenings. 

So she kind of moves in. But Lexa was the one who offered, so she doesn’t mind. It’s not interfering with her life or their arrangement, so she’s fine. On the nights they have sex, Clarke retreats to her room when they are done, fully intending on leaving after a quick nap. 

Lexa doesn’t remind her when she joins her for breakfast – or, rather, lunch - later in the afternoon. And she doesn’t even notice when Clarke stops leaving her after their breathing returns to normal. 

One day, Clarke’s too tired to crawl out of her bed. So she doesn’t. And Lexa doesn’t ask. 

They settle into a comfortable routine of lazy morning sex and unhurried breakfast. Clarke stares at her like she’s some kind of an alien creature every time she leaves for her morning jog, but there’s sugarless iced tea waiting for her when she comes back. After her shower, she sits in a rocking chair and reads next to Clarke who’s napping on a porch swing. 

They don’t really talk. At first. But, Lexa reasons, it’s impossible not to talk to someone you practically live with. (She ignores the memories of her pre-teen – and several teen – years her brain helpfully supplies her with. Her father and her are… a unique case.) 

“Can I ask you a question?” Clarke pipes up suddenly as she sips on her homemade lemonade and studies her from where she’s leaning against the counter. 

Lexa finishes chewing her toast and looks at her. “Sure,” she says, hoping she doesn’t sound too cautious. 

“I’ve noticed you don’t really eat sugary food.” Clarke puts her glass down and hops onto the counter, swinging her legs. Lexa’s long since gave up on telling her not to do that. Strangely enough, she doesn’t find it as annoying as she probably should. She thinks it has something to do with Clarke letting her go down on her while she’s sitting there. 

“Observant,” she nods, and blinks when Clarke shoots her a pointed look. 

“Why?” the blonde asks when Lexa doesn’t say anything more. 

“I don’t really like it.” Clarke’s brow arches, and she sighs. “I know. I’m weird. I don’t hate sugar or anything. I eat fruit. I just don’t eat processed sugar. It tastes awful and it gives me a rush.” 

Clarke tilts her head as she continues to study her. “You ate the muffins I brought,” she points out. Lexa sips at her water. 

“You made them for me. I didn’t want to -- I just thought it’d be rude not to try them. And I only ate two.” 

There’s a strange smile playing on Clarke’s lips, and Lexa’s not quite sure what to make of it. “Alright. No muffins for you next time. Got it.” 

The conversation leaves Lexa feeling weird, but Clarke hops off the counter to saunter over to her and straddle her hips, and all the questions that might’ve arisen are wiped from her mind. 

* * *

Waking up next to Clarke soon becomes one of her favorite things. That, in and out of itself, should concern her. But she finds it hard to be concerned when there’s a warm, pliant body pressed to her in the morning. 

She’s always the first one to wake up, of course. For Clarke, waking before noon is a special form of torture, it seems. Used to be a special form of torture. Lexa might not be an expert on reading people, but she likes to think that she’s changed that. 

She starts with kisses, at first. Slow, small pecks dropped to her shoulders and neck. Clarke usually sleeps on her stomach, facing away from Lexa, and that gives her easy access. All she needs to do is brush her blonde waves away and lean in to explore her skin with her lips while her hand finds its way to her lower back. At this point, Clarke usually stirs a little, but doesn’t wake up yet, and Lexa grins into her shoulder blade as her hand ventures lower, to the generous curve of her hip. Light, teasing scratching. Longer kisses and soft nibbles. Clarke stretching and sighing, still sleeping, but on her way to rousing. 

It’s deeply intimate, in a way, and Lexa is aware of that. Still surprised that Clarke is willing to share this level of vulnerability with her. Still stunned that she gets to experience this Clarke – soft, sleepy one, with her defenses lowered to the point of not existing at all. It takes special kind of trust to sleep next to someone, she’s once read. Sleeping is when people are rendered helpless and weak. 

But she doesn’t feel weak next to Clarke. She feels feelings she probably shouldn’t, not when their arrangement is in place, not when they’ll go their separate ways in less than two months. But weak is not one of them. 

Clarke stirs, again. Her left leg, bent at the knee, rises higher as she arches at the feather-like touches. She’s opening herself up for Lexa, even unconscious, and there’s something sinfully delicious about that – having her always so ready for her. 

Her hand slowly travels higher, then. Over her side to the swell of her breast. Since Clarke’s lying on her stomach, she can’t cup her without rudely jostling her out of sleep. She settles for running her fingers around it where she can reach, and Clarke arches even more, with another sigh falling from her lips. She enjoys the attention Lexa pays to her chest. Discovering it as one of her extra-sweet spots was incredibly easy.

She plays with her for a while like that, only soft, teasing touches, loving the way her breathing slowly changes from deep and calm to increasingly uneven in her sleep. She wonders if she’s dreaming of her now, or someone else, but the thought is unpleasant, and so she ignores it. Instead, she breathes her in as her fingertips dance across her thigh. “Clarke,” she whispers in her ear, before dropping a small kiss just below it. Her only response is a short groan. She chuckles. “Clarke,” she murmurs against her skin. “It’s already ten.” 

She can practically feel her grasp at the dream that’s fading away, wishing to stay there just a little bit longer. But she’s slowly becoming more awake than asleep, thanks to Lexa’s careful ministrations, and she seems to enjoy the feeling as she comes to it. 

Her next moan is sleepy, but aware, as is her breathless chuckle. “I like this alarm,” she announces in a raspy voice as she lazily rolls over on her side, head turned so she can meet Lexa’s gaze with her own hazy one. 

“Good to hear,” Lexa whispers. 

Clarke’s already slick with heat when her fingers finally slide down and run through her folds, and her eyes are an electric blue as they widen at the welcomed sensation. It doesn’t take long for her to come undone. Her body is on the brink of release from Lexa’s calculated touches earlier, and she sighs happily as she lets it happen, still drowsy. Her hips roll as she rides the waves of her gentle release, quietly moaning. 

Lexa slides her fingers inside her just to feel her clench, and for that, Clarke rewards her with a broken gasp of her name as she arches.

“Sleepy orgasms are the best,” she rasps when she’s not pulsing around Lexa as rhythmically. There’s still an occasional clench, but she’s slowly coming down from her high. Lexa just watches her. She can’t help it – she’s mesmerized by this girl that stormed into her life so suddenly and nonchalantly claimed a place in it. She doesn’t want to think about what it means. For now, she just… is. Here, with Clarke and her sly smile and a twinkle in blue eyes as she slowly rolls them over and straddles her, smirking. 

“It’s a good thing your neighbors live so far away,” she tells her, “or you’d be facing several noise complaints after I’m done with you.” 

Lexa knows she’s not joking when she slides down her body, leaving quick, determined kisses on her chest and stomach.

* * *

Their routine is broken when Clarke returns from visiting her friends with a scowl. 

“Is everything okay?” She asks her when she looks up from her book. Clarke looks like she wants to snap at her, but then, she lets out a slow breath and shakes her head. 

“Not really,” she admits. “They are just… Fuck them.” 

Lexa carefully watches as Clarke plops down on the couch next to the chair she’s sitting on. “Finn and Raven?” She asks, tentatively. She’s not really hoping for a response that’s not a scoff. 

But Clarke looks at her. “I’m surprised you remembered their names,” she says. Lexa blinks. 

“Why wouldn’t I? You told me about them.” The emphasis here is not on the fact that Clarke did tell her, but on the fact that it was _Clarke_ who did. She wonders whether she wants her to pick up on that. 

Judging by Clarke’s surprised, soft smile, she does. Just as quickly as it appears, it’s gone, and the scowl re-establishes itself on her face. “Yeah. Not only them, though.” She sighs and looks at the ceiling. Lexa follows her line of sight with her gaze. “They think I’ve been living in the woods because I can’t stand seeing them back together,” she says darkly. “Which, I kind of can’t, but I don’t care enough to spend the nights in the woods, you know?” 

Lexa thinks she does. She still can’t stop from pointing out that Clarke does spend her nights here. 

In response, she snorts. “Well, that’s just _part_ of the reason I spend the nights with you.” Blue eyes sparkle. “An _increasingly_ smaller part.”

Lexa swallows and tells herself not to dwell on it. “What did you tell them?” 

Clarke looks briefly guilty. “I told them about you,” she says. “And, well, I could’ve just said I stayed at your place and leave it at that, but – all of them had this pitying look, and I fucking hate it. So I kind of… told them about us.” 

“Oh.” Lexa shrugs. “Okay. I don’t mind.” It would have been nice, perhaps, if Clarke checked with her first, but she also understands the pressure she must have been under. And, besides, she won’t ever meet those people again, so she doesn’t care. 

Clarke perks up. “That’s awesome, because I’m about to ask you to go to the lake with us, and you’d be really doing me a solid if you agree.” 

She stares at Clarke. Clarke stares back. “I beg your pardon?” 

Clarke sighs and sits up. “They all really want to meet you. Finn started it. I think he doesn’t believe me, which – fuck him, really, but I also still have my pride and I’d like to salvage what little is left of it.” 

“Wouldn’t it be better for your pride to not rise to the bait and ignore it?” 

“That would be being the bigger person, which I am not. I’m petty and still angry, and, honestly, I also really want to show off this _ridiculously_ hot girl I’m banging.” Her grin is too infectious not to return, so Lexa does, albeit cautiously. 

She looks at Clarke, and she’s slowly realizing that there are not many things she’ll say no to if she asks. And she has a feeling it will become a problem. 

The right, smart thing to do would be to walk away while she still can. Except she doubts she can, and that – that is already a problem. 

She sighs. “When does the pissing contest take place?” 

Clarke’s eyes light up. “Tomorrow. Don’t worry,” she bites her lips as she stands up, slowly taking the book from Lexa and carefully setting it on the coffee table, open and face down so Lexa doesn’t lose the page. “I’ll make it worth your while.” 

She doesn’t doubt that for a second.

* * *

In. Out. In. Out. 

Lexa concentrates on her breathing as she passes a blur of trees. _In – two – three,_ she counts in her head. _Out – two. In – two – three._ The point is to land alternatively on her right and left foot at the beginning of every exhalation. Two more miles to go, and she’s done for the day. 

She’s not sure she’s looking forward to it. Because that would mean she’ll have to start preparing for today’s meeting, and she doesn’t know how to do that. She feels like she’s missing something, but she’ s not sure _what_ exactly, and that makes her nervous. 

The whole prospect of meeting Clarke’s friends makes her nervous. She finds it baffling. Didn’t she willingly go to the house she shares with them just a month ago? 

_But it was different,_ a voice inside her head tells her. _Everything was different a month ago, and you know it._

Clarke wasn’t supposed to become… less temporary. She was supposed to be a fun night. 

Now, she’s meeting her friends. 

Lexa falters and almost trips before stopping completely and grabbing onto her knees as she bends over and pants, struggling to even her breathing out. She didn’t even notice her speed picking up to the point where she couldn’t go on anymore. 

This is bad. 

* * *

This could be worse, she reasons when she approaches Clarke’s house and the girl runs out to greet her with a grin. 

“Hey,” she says. Clarke stops in front of her, leaving two feet between them as she bites her lower lip and fumbles with her hands. It’s one of her more obvious tells, when she clearly isn’t sure of something. Right now, she guesses, Clarke isn’t sure what greeting Lexa expects. And what greeting would really be appropriate given their whole situation. 

If they were alone, she’d have leaned in and claimed her mouth several seconds ago. But they are not, and doing that in front of all of her friends might send a wrong message. 

After all, they are not dating. It’s just a summer fling. Summer flings don’t greet each other with kisses. Right? 

“Hi,” Clarke says lowly. Her smile grows smaller, but softer, and Lexa finds herself smiling back. “I’m so glad you came.” 

Lexa only nods. Before she can reply, there are more people coming out of the house and joining them on the small front lawn. She recognizes Bellamy, who gives her a small smile and a nod. Other faces are unfamiliar. Curious, too, as they study her. She just looks back, unblinking. 

_This is becoming uncomfortable._

Clarke rolls her eyes and comes up to stand at her side, gently grasping at her elbow and squeezing. “Everyone, this is Lexa,” she says, rather monotone; but she knows it’s directed at her friends and not at her, so she relaxes into her touch. “Lexa, this is everyone.” 

She glances at Clarke and then back at the group huddled together before them. “Hi, everyone.” 

Bellamy snickers at that. When she stares at him, confused, he hides the last of his laughter behind the clearing of his throat. “It’s nice to see you again,” he tells her, winking at the grateful look Clarke shoots his way. “How have you been?” 

“Why did _he_ get to meet her first, anyway?” A small brunette holding the hand of a tall guy next to her speaks up before Lexa can utter an impassive _good_ to answer Bellamy’s question. She glares in his direction, and Lexa is amused to see him glare back, just as childishly. She _must_ be his little sister. Octavia, was it? 

Clarke’s answer proves her right. “Because he wasn’t busy chugging his second pitcher of beer, O.” 

“We also left pretty early,” Lexa finds herself speaking, and is just as surprised as Clarke is, probably. “Kind of my fault. I’m sorry.” 

“ _We?_ Ooh, girl, alright,” the other girl next to Bellamy grins. She’s pretty. Very pretty, Lexa notes, with dark hair and eyes and a brilliant smile. “I already like this one, Griffin.”

 _Raven._ The name suits her. So that means the boy standing next to her is Finn. She tells herself the reason for the instant dislike she feels is his betrayal of her – friend. Of her friend. And maybe also his hair. It’s just too fluffy.

Judging by the way he’s staring at her, it might be mutual. 

“Thank you,” Lexa replies to her. This time, everyone lets out a chuckle, and the air seems less tense. 

“Yeah, definitely like her.” She comes up closer to her, and it’s only now that Lexa notices the cane she’s leaning on. “I’m Raven.” 

She shakes the offered hand, firmly. “Lexa, but you already know that. It’s nice to meet you.” Dark brown eyes sparkle at her, and she finds her smile incredibly infectious when she can’t stop her own small one in response. 

Others take it as their cue to do the same, and soon, Lexa’s surrounded by Clarke’s friends, quickly shaking hands. She was right in her little guessing game. 

“Hey. I’m Octavia. You already met my idiot brother.” 

“Lincoln. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Monty!” 

She nods at Monty after letting go of his hand, and glances at the last person who still hasn’t introduced himself. He wraps his arm around Raven when he comes up, and he doesn’t offer her a hand. Of course, she thinks, mentally rolling her eyes. That’s the part she wasn’t looking forward to. 

“Finn,” he smirks. 

“I guessed.” If it comes out a little cold, no one comments, thankfully. Clarke’s hand tightens around her elbow – either in warning or encouragement, she doesn’t know. 

She thinks she hears Bellamy hotly whisper _really?_ to Finn with barely concealed anger as they begin to walk towards the lake, but she’s not too sure. 

* * *

She’s never been self-conscious about her body – the body she’s worked hard for and, occasionally, is proud to demonstrate. Mostly, however, those demonstrations are saved for her bedroom. And, lately, the living room, Clarke’s room, and, sometimes, the kitchen. 

_When did she begin to think of the guestroom as Clarke’s room – but doesn’t it make sense since she practically lives there?_

_Why doesn’t she mind?_

So, yeah. She’s not self-conscious in the slightest. But she doesn’t like drawing too much attention to herself, and she’s pretty sure that’s what will happen the minute she takes her shirt off, considering these people are aware of the nature of her and Clarke’s relationship. And they don’t seem the modest, prudish type. 

But she also can’t swim in clothes. Sadly. 

Clarke’s already shed all of her clothes next to her, and the sight helps ground her somewhat as she trails her gaze down her body clad in a blue bikini that doesn’t leave much to imagination. Luckily, Lexa doesn’t have to imagine anything. She knows perfectly well what’s under those pieces of fabric that have the audacity to call themselves _a swimsuit._ She remembers the way Clarke arches into her when she touches those places. She remembers what they taste like under her tongue. 

“Keep looking at me like that, and we’ll give everyone here a free show,” comes a husky whisper, and Lexa snaps her gaze up to meet the dark, electrifying blue of Clarke’s eyes. She doesn’t have an answer ready for that, and so she settles for simply looking at her with what she hopes is a stoic expression. 

Clarke’s mouth opens ever so slightly, but Lexa’s not sure if she wanted to say something else, because their staring contest is interrupted by Octavia. 

“Clarke!” She yells, and they blink, startled, before Clarke gives her an apologetic look and turns around. Octavia is sitting several feet away from them, her and Lincoln having already laid out their towels. “Can you get my back?” She says, showing them a bottle of sunscreen.

“Why can’t Lincoln do that?” Clarke asks, sounding irritated. 

Lexa can’t say she blames her. 

“Because Bell will try to punch him,” Octavia says slowly, with the patience of a seasoned therapist. “And I don’t want to have to explain to our mom why his nose is broken. So -- _damn._ ” 

Lexa struggles not to roll her eyes when Octavia’s pale blue ones rake over her body after she tugs her shirt and shorts off. Clearly, she’s miscalculated when she hoped their bickering would distract them from watching her. “Don’t you have a boyfriend to gawk at?” She asks, with a slight smirk. Speaking of – Lincoln is polite enough to not look, instead standing up and joining the others in the lake. She sighs and adjusts her boxer briefs. Their waistband rode up too high for her liking. 

Clarke joins Octavia in her staring, while the latter replies. “Looking is not touching,” she announces. 

“That’s a very questionable thought process,” Lexa notes dryly. 

“Well, shit,” another voice joins in, and Lexa clenches her fists before forcing herself to relax. “Now I get why you’re never home anymore, Clarke.” 

Raven. Which means Finn, too. In the short time she’s known them, they’ve proven to be quite inseparable, and she doesn’t mean the support Raven might require from him due to her injury. She finds their public displays of affection a tad inconsiderate. But – not her place. 

Is it not, though? Clarke and her might not be dating, but she’d like to think they are close enough to be friends. Or, at the very least, friendly acquaintances. Doesn’t she have a right to stand up for her friend? 

Both of them are wet, with droplets of water sliding down their skin after their brief dip into the lake. Raven’s cane isn’t with her anymore, and Finn’s got his arm around her waist as he gently supports her. Lexa reasons he’d have to be a jackass of supervillain proportions not to do so. 

She shakes her head, telling herself to stop looking for more justifications of her dislike towards him. But she’s not going to lie – seeing his displeased expression at his girlfriend’s comment doesn’t feel too bad. It means she’s doing the job Clarke wants her to. 

She shoots Raven a quick smirk before looking at Clarke again. “Wanna go for a swim?” she asks, with a lopsided smile. 

The blonde nods, biting her lip and stifling her own grin. 

“What about my back?” Octavia demands as they walk away. 

“Ask Raven,” Clarke throws over her shoulder, carelessly. She matches Lexa’s pace, bumping into her shoulder with her own. “Thank you,” she whispers. “You’re doing awesome, by the way. Finn’s about to explode.” 

Lexa fights a frown that threatens to overtake her features. Why does it matter to her what he thinks? 

_But isn’t this why you’re here in the first place? To show him she’s over him – whether or not that’s actually true?_

“That means he’s not very good for your friend,” she settles for pointing out, and scolds herself when Clarke’s face darkens. 

They reach the water, and Lexa lets the small waves lap at her toes. Clarke does the same, looking down. “Yeah, well,” she shrugs, pretending to be nonchalant. “That one’s on her.”

“You’re angry,” Lexa quietly observes. _Of course she still cares._

Clarke lets out a short, sharp laugh. “Yes,” she says, lifting her unreadable eyes to meet Lexa’s. “And I also don’t want to talk about it. Come on. Race me.” she grabs Lexa’s hand, tugging her as she walks into the lake, not even wincing as the cool water meets her heated skin. Lexa grits her teeth as she follows. She doesn’t particularly like sudden changes in temperature, but she doesn’t want to show her discomfort. 

“Race you?” She asks when they stop, with water reaching up to their midriffs. 

“Yup.” Clarke pops the _p_ as she watches Lexa with a sly smirk, all previous signs of a bad mood forgotten. Or, rather, masked. “The winner gets to go down on the loser.” She slowly threads the water, coming closer to Lexa and letting her voice drop. “The loser doesn’t get to reciprocate.” 

“You’re unnecessarily cruel,” Lexa says, “to yourself.” 

Clarke tosses her head back and laughs, before splashing water at her, playfully. “You’re so gonna regret saying that,” she taunts, and catches her tongue between her teeth as she grins. Her hair sparkles with gold under sunlight, and her eyes crinkle, softly, lively. She’s a beautiful sight like this. But she’s also beautiful having just woken up in Lexa’s bed; or napping on her porch swing; or eating French toast with an unhealthy amount of syrup poured over it in her kitchen. 

Lexa blinks and shuts the thought down. “We’ll see,” she says. And dives. 

* * *

Clarke pouts all the – admittedly, short – way back to the shore. “Not fair,” she announces as she plops down onto the sand. “You totally cheated.” 

Lexa arches her brow as she slowly settles next to her. “How did I cheat?” 

“By looking the way you look,” Clarke sighs dramatically, and lies down, arching her back as she stretches. Lexa knows she’s doing it on purpose. She’s just not sure what the purpose is. “I was too distracted to concentrate on winning.” One blue eye flies open as Clarke peeks at her. 

Lexa leans back on her elbows. “I didn’t peg you for a sore loser,” she comments lightly, and Clarke scoffs. 

“Yeah, because this _whole_ situation just screams graceful acceptance of my shortcomings,” she says sarcastically, closing her eye. That allows Lexa to stare at her without trying to be discreet, which she immediately proceeds to do, trailing the droplets of water sliding down her skin with her eyes. It’s not – she’s not a creep, she swears. It’s just – she has trouble admiring Clarke openly when she’s aware of it, because… Because she doesn’t know what kind of feelings might reflect in her eyes, and she’s not ready for Clarke to see anything past the lust yet. Or, ever. 

(Sometimes, she thinks she catches the sliver of something bigger, something deeper in the thoughtful glances Clarke occasionally shoots her way, but she’s been burned by wistful thinking before. She has no desire to relive that experience.) 

“You need a bib?” 

Lexa snaps her eyes up to meet Raven’s sparkling ones. “Excuse me?” 

“A bib,” Raven repeats, sitting down next to them. Thankfully, Finn is not with her. “Because you’re about to drool.” 

Clarke’s lips curl in a small, smug smirk before she opens her eyes and sits up. “I tend to have that effect on people,” she states, with a touch of arrogance that Lexa doesn’t find annoying. Mostly because she doesn’t disagree. 

She’s still a little embarrassed at having been caught staring. But Clarke doesn’t look like she minds. She seems welcoming, in fact, as she meets her eyes with a widening smirk. 

“So the guys are thinking barbeque tonight,” Raven speaks up, and they are forced to break their eye contact once again. Lexa doesn’t miss the amused smile playing on her lips. “You’re more than welcome to join, Lexa.” 

Clare answers for her. “We have plans.” To that, her friend rolls her eyes. 

“Can you keep it in your pants for like, an hour? I’m not asking you to stay for the night. God knows you got better things to do,” she winks at Lexa, who’s perplexed at the sudden flushing of her cheeks. “But, I mean – we all came here together, and you’re never with us anymore.” Raven’s voice lowers with genuine emotion. “I miss you, you know.” 

Lexa can practically feel the tension radiating from Clarke, and she knows she has to interfere before this turns ugly. “I’d love to,” she says, causing Raven to flash her an excited grin and Clarke to plop on her back with a sigh. “Sounds fun.” 

“You hate crowds,” Clarke points out. She shrugs. And doesn’t miss a curious look Raven shoots their way. 

“Seven’s not a crowd.” It is, kind of, considering the largest amount of people she’s used to spend time with is four, at most, and even then it’s already pushing it. But she reasons it’ll only be for an hour or so. She can always leave when she becomes uncomfortable. She’ll just keep to herself, and then they’ll go home. 

_Home?_

_They?_

Blue eyes flutter open and study her, carefully. “Are you sure?” Clarke’s voice is unexpectedly gentle. 

She swallows, thickly. Nods and makes herself look away, at the lake where Bellamy lifts Octavia and throws her in the water despite the girl’s warning shouts. “Yeah. I like barbeque.” 

“Alright, cool,” Raven says, looking at them – mostly Clarke – strangely. “I’ll go make sure O doesn’t kick Bell in the balls.” With that, she rises to her feet, with some difficulty. Lexa’s fingers twitch, and she looks around, spotting Raven’s cane several yards away. But she’s already walking away, heavily leaning on her left leg and carefully handling her right one, and Lexa’s not sure if yelling after her to offer help would be a good idea. 

“She’ll be okay,” she hears Clarke say before a hand is placed on her tense arm. She hasn’t even noticed her body coiling, ready to spring up and run to the limping girl. 

“I should’ve offered to help her,” she muses. 

Clarke snorts. “Raven would’ve hated that,” she tells her, with a lopsided smirk. “Wouldn’t let you see that, though. She likes you.” Blonde waves fall down her shoulders as she frees them out of a ponytail and gently massages her scalp, briefly closing her eyes. Lexa can only watch, mesmerized. “I hope you’re not dating her in secret, too.” She smirks at the look she gives her. “It was a joke.” 

“Not a very good one,” Lexa tells her with a huff. “I am not looking to be compared to him.” 

She expects Clarke to arch her brow; to question her what made you think her joke was about comparing her to the boy who she actually dated, no matter how it ended. The boy she’s known for the large portion of her life, as opposed to her, whom she’s only known for two short months. 

She doesn’t expect her smirk to fade as her hand slowly finds the back of her neck, with fingertips dancing across skin along the way. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she breathes, and her darkening eyes are captivating. 

Lexa’s not sure if that’s something in her favor, but Clarke’s lips on hers make her think that maybe it is. It’s a slow peck, and it doesn’t go any further than their lips softly sliding against each other’s, but when they part, she’s left buzzing all over. Suddenly, the idea of barbeque seems more and more unappealing by the second. 

She leans in, again, catching Clarke’s lower lip between hers and gently sucking on it. Just as Clarke’s grip on her neck grows stronger and a sigh falls from her mouth, she lets go with a small, wet _pop_ , studying her flushed face and unfocused eyes. 

“What was that for?” Clarke half-pleads, half-demands. She only gives her a muted smirk. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Bellamy and Lincoln emerge from the water and make their way towards them. 

“Small preparation for tonight,” she replies, quietly. “I haven’t forgotten about the bet and its unfortunate results.”

“You’re an ass,” Clarke tells her. 

But her breathing is still shallow and her gaze is heavy, heated on her lips, and Lexa doubts she means her words.

* * *

Somehow, the boys persuade them to join the next round of chicken fight. Not that it takes a lot of convincing. Clarke’s surprisingly – or unsurprisingly – competitive. And Lexa might be just a little worse. Especially since they will be facing Finn. Since Raven opted out of this round, Monty is the one to climb on his shoulders. He’s a skinny guy, but he appears rather agile, too. And if her years of fencing have taught her anything, it’s to never underestimate her opponent. 

No matter how much she wants to win this one. Or, rather, especially because of how much she wants to win this one. 

A little mental intimidation before the fight never hurts, though. She squats as they reach the shore, stopping Clarke in her tracks. “Hop on.” 

She half-expects her to start arguing, but there’s not a word said as she quickly straddles her neck. She does let out a small, surprised yelp when Lexa stands up like she weighs nothing, gently gripping her thighs, but the sound quickly changes into laughing as the guys – barring Finn – whistle and woof at Lexa’s sudden show off. 

(She tells herself to stop wondering if Clarke likes it.)

This time, the water is pleasantly cool against her skin, and she threads through it until she reaches Finn and Monty. The others are standing closer to the shore, clapping and laughing as they jokingly place bets. 

“Alright, ready?” Lincoln asks, and everyone nods. “Go! Team Lexa!” 

“Hell yeah, team Lexa,” she hears Bellamy shout, and allows a small smile to escape before concentrating on keeping her feet planted on the lake bottom. It’s mushy, as expected, and slippery, but she makes sure to grip as much as she can and keep her legs slightly apart for balance. Then, she charges, hoping Clarke’s ready to attack. 

She doesn’t disappoint. Monty holds on for dear life, and, perhaps, if his partner was someone else, they would’ve made it longer, but Finn slips as Clarke pushes, and goes down, taking Monty with him. Both boys emerge with wet hair over their eyes. Monty gives them a grin. Finn scowls. 

Lexa can’t help but smirk back. At both of them. 

By the end of it, Clarke and her are indisputable champions. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the evil is defeated.

Lexa’s still not sure if this is the best or worst idea she’s ever had. The beer can she was handed a minute ago is cold and wet with condensation, and she tries not to grimace as she puts it down and discreetly wipes her hands with a napkin. 

She’s amazed she doesn’t jump when Clarke groans next to her in frustration. When did she get here? “Ugh. I told Bell you don’t drink, but he’s a firm believer in the healing powers of alcohol,” she says, picking up Lexa’s beer from the table.

Lexa blinks. “Do I look like I need to -- heal?” She asks, confused. 

“Everyone needs to heal from something,” Clarke tells her, with a small smile. “He’s a firm believer in that, too.” For several seconds, they are silent, with Clarke watching her friends and Lexa watching Clarke. 

“Do  _ you _ believe that?” Lexa asks, then. Clarke only shrugs. 

“Come on,” she says, grabbing her hand and tugging her as she determinedly heads towards the group huddled around a small fire. “You got us into it, now you get to suffer through it.” She slows down, briefly, when Lexa’s hand twitches in her hold. Before Lexa has the chance to mentally scold herself for that moment of weakness, Clarke’s lips curl in another tiny smile. “When you want to leave,” she almost whispers, “tell me. Okay?” 

Lexa’s torn between being grateful for Clarke’s intuition and annoyed with her own toddler behavior. “Okay. But I won’t have to.” 

“Then you think way too highly of my friends,” Clarke snorts, and they are walking again. 

Everyone looks up when they get close. “Oh,” Finn says, unenthusiastically. “I thought you left.” 

Monty blinks. “What? What are you talking about? She was standing right there. You kept looking at her.” Lexa’s a little ashamed with how satisfied she feels when Octavia and Bellamy laugh, the sound loud and unrestrained. It only grows when Clarke joins in. She thinks she can see Lincoln hide a smirk, as well. 

“Whatever,” Finn huffs, and maybe coming here wasn’t a bad idea at all. 

***

This was a terrible idea. She’s coming to that realization as Bellamy knocks over her beer bottle and excitedly yells that they should play one of the most juvenile, desperate games to ever exist. 

“Spin the bottle?” Clarke scoffs next to her, and she hides a soft smile when she feels her thumb barely graze her thigh. “What are you, twelve?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the boy replies, mockingly. “I only suggested it cause it’s your favorite game. But – oh, wait, no, my bad. There’s usually no bottle involved.” 

Clarke tenses next to her, but not before Lexa does. “Are you calling me a slut?” 

Lexa carefully watches him as he stands up. A part of her wants to grab Clarke’s arm when she springs to her feet, and tug her down, as gently as she can muster, but she’s not sure it’s her place. But it  _ is _ her place to join her. She can stand up, too, if she wants to. 

Bellamy’s lightly swaying, and it’s clear he’s more than a little intoxicated. Clarke’s not completely sober, too. Is that how it usually goes when they had a little too much to drink? 

“I wasn’t calling you anything,” he states. “It was a  _ joke, _ geez.” 

“Well I’m not laughing,” Clarke says, dryly. “No one is.” 

He shrugs. “Well maybe there was some truth to it.” Then, he grins. It’s wry, and lewd, and sloppy, and Lexa’s not sure she likes him as much anymore. 

“Whatever Clarke does or doesn’t do is none of your business. As long as she’s enjoying herself and isn’t in danger. And as your friend, you should know better.” 

Bellamy blinks, as if only waking up, and stares at her in confusion. But Clarke doesn’t turn. Her back is still rigid, and Lexa tries to be discreet when she thickly swallows the sudden lump in her throat. 

“Damn right. Sit your ass back down, Blake.” The new voice belongs to Raven, and it doesn’t offer much room for arguing. Or any, really. Except Bellamy doesn’t give the impression of an obedient little lamb when he’s drunk, and Lexa tenses up again, quickly flexing her arms and legs as she prepares to take him down if he lunges. She doesn’t know him. At all. It’s possible he gets aggressive. Right now, that’s what she’s getting from him. 

But Raven’s voice is seemingly a bucket of ice water. He blinks again, lets out a breath, and sits down, suddenly docile and deflated. “Sorry, Griffin,” he mumbles, toying with the now empty bottle he picked up. 

“Fuck you, Blake.” Clarke’s voice is even as she tears the bottle out of his hand. “You better pray you don’t land on Octavia.” 

“Hey!” O exclaims from Lincoln’s lap. “It’s not my fault my brother’s an idiot.” 

Clarke shrugs as she returns to her spot, leaving Lexa no choice but to follow. “Then you better pray, too.” Lexa expects O to get into an argument, but the girl stays quiet. Everyone does. And everyone’s watching Clarke with muted worry, except Bellamy, who’s perched on his seat and is staring right into the flames. 

And Clarke’s not looking at anyone. Not even at Lexa. But – why  _ even? _ Out of everyone here, she’s the least likely to get Clarke’s attention when she’s upset. She’s her barely-friend with benefits that won’t last for long. 

And yet that thought doesn’t stop her from reaching out and carefully touching her lower back. She’s still tense. But her eyes finally meet Lexa’s, and there’s – nothing. Pretty blue iris and black pupils, wide in the dark. And that’s it. 

“You don’t have to play if you don’t want to,” this new Clarke tells her, in the same even voice. “I’ll walk you home after we’re done.” 

If she said that several minutes ago, it would’ve been her giving her an out. Now, it’s Clarke getting rid of her. Waving her off, like an annoying fly. 

The words are out of her mouth before she can fully process them. “I’ll play.” 

“Cool.” Her tone lets her know Clarke couldn’t care less. Lexa suddenly feels hot; feverish. The humid air –  _ and rejection –  _ aren’t helping. Clarke blinks. And again, and once more, and the blue in her eyes melts just a little. “I – okay,” she speaks again, quieter. “If you’re sure.” 

She’s sorry. She doesn’t have to say it, because Lexa already knows. She’s already forgiven her, she thinks. “I’m sure.” Like hell she is, but she’s not about to say that in front of Finn’s smug face. 

Speaking of which. “Are we playing or not?” He asks, looking bored, with one arm slung over Raven’s shoulder. “Can we move it along? I have a hot date waiting for me.” 

“Gross,” O mutters, and Lexa finds herself being grateful for her existence. “I honestly don’t know if I wanna play it. I already have lips to kiss.” Lincoln smiles down at her when she presses closer to him, resting her head on his chest. 

But Clarke’s already spinning the bottle. To Lexa’s relief she didn’t know she was about to feel, it lands on Monty. The kiss is brief and as non-sexual as possible – they simply lock lips for a couple of seconds. 

“Hey, that’s cheating,” Finn points out. Because of course he does. “That wasn’t a kiss.” 

Monty shrugs. “You’re not getting more.” And with that, he retreats back to his seat, sending Clarke a small smile that she returns. 

For the next couple of turns, neither she nor Clarke get to participate. And she likes it that way. And yes, that’s scary in and out of itself, and perhaps she shouldn’t care at all, and maybe that’s hypocritical of her after what she’s told Bellamy mere moments ago, but she can’t stop. 

She doesn’t want Clarke to kiss someone else. And if she has to – she doesn’t want her to kiss Finn. 

And because she’s never been particularly favored by Universe, the next time Finn spins the fucking thing after barely pecking Bellamy’s lips, it lands on Clarke. 

Everyone freezes. Or, maybe, no one does but her as she stares at it and listens to her own heartbeat pound in her ears. 

Finn is watching her, and the bottle is pointing at Clarke, and Raven’s frowning and Lexa can’t breathe. So she stands up. And walks away. Because she doesn’t like this tightness in her chest, and she doesn’t like everyone’s stares, and she’s suddenly tired and overwhelmed. 

Why did she agree to play spin the bottle in the first place? Since when opinions of others about her matter? 

Well, clearly they don’t anymore, since she just stood up and left without a word of explanation. Not that they needed any. It’s clear as day. 

She doesn’t want Finn anywhere near Clarke, and it’s definitely not just because she’s her friend. And that was never part of their agreement. 

*** 

Clarke chases after her. She doesn’t expect her to, but she does, and her chest feels a little lighter when she hears her call her name. 

“Fuck,” she pants, resting her hands on her knees and struggling to catch her breath when Lexa stops and turns around. “You’re fast.” 

“I’m sorry,” Lexa offers, immediately. “Your friends must think I’m -- we’re -- ” she can’t find any other words, so she sighs. “I’m sorry. I just felt… uncomfortable. But I shouldn’t have left like that.” 

Clarke straightens up, and her eyes zero in on her face. “Why  _ did _ you leave?” 

Well. She didn’t expect her to get right to the point, either. “I…” she coughs. “I didn’t want to watch you kiss Finn.” 

Clarke’s getting closer, and Lexa feels like she’s trapped. “Why did you not want to watch me kiss Finn?” 

“Because I don’t like Finn.” The answer is immediate and sure and wrong. And Clarke knows that. She’s so close. When did she get this close? 

“So you would be fine if it was Lincoln I had to kiss?” 

“Octavia wouldn’t be.” 

“I’m not asking about Octavia.” Clarke’s close enough to kiss. The fact that  _ that’s _ the first thing she thinks of is very telling. 

When Lexa doesn’t answer, she swallows, nodding. “Were you fine when I kissed Monty?” 

She thought she was. “No.” 

Blue eyes are gazing right into hers, unblinking. “Ask me. Ask me if I’d be fine with you kissing anyone there.” 

Lexa doesn’t think she needs to. Doesn’t think she should, either, because that – that would ruin everything. All of their pretense, carefully crafted by both of them so neither gets hurt. It will ruin everything. “Would you be?” 

“No fucking way,” Clarke breathes out, and finally leans in; and Lexa’s hit with hunger and longing and something equally beautiful and terrifying she’s feeling for this girl before her. 

She’s the first one to pull away, almost getting distracted all over again when Clarke chases after her lips. “I – wait. Clarke.” She never realized before how much she liked saying her name. Or – never let herself realize that. But now, all bets are off, the dam is broken, and the river’s hitting them full force, washing everything away. 

Yet, somehow, they are still standing. “Clarke,” she repeats again, mostly to ground herself. Blue eyes are a brilliant sapphire as they sparkle at her in the moonlight. That’s how their very first night started. “I’m leaving in a month.” 

“So am I.” Her hands find the back of her neck, fingers playing with the hair. “And I don’t want our last month together to be a lie.” She tilts her head, studying her with a soft smile. No one’s ever smiled at her like that. “Do you?” 

It’s a simple question; could seem rhetoric, at first. But it’s not. Clarke’s letting her make a decision for herself. She already told her about hers. 

“No.” Clarke’s forehead is warm and damp under hers. “I don’t.” 

***

They watch the sun rise again, just like countless nights before that. Countless. Right. Lexa remembers each and every one of them. And they are all different, but this one stands out the most. Tonight’s the first night they made love without pretending it was just sex. 

Neither said the words, but she felt it. In Clarke’s soft gaze and softer moans and in her greedy hands and warm, gentle lips. She knows Clarke felt it, too. 

When the first weak rays cut through the bleak pre-morning grey, Clarke lazily climbs off her lap and tugs her down to bed with her, raining a series of small kisses upon her lips. Tasting herself and letting her taste herself, too. 

She’s sore and exhausted in the best of ways, and she wonders if Clarke can feel her whole body hum with tired pleasure, too. She certainly hopes so. She really tried to make that happen. 

Clarke chuckles against her chest, quietly, as they lay there, limbs entwined. “You’re the most unexpected of all awesome things that ever happened to me.” 

Lexa looks down at her. “Awesome?” She asks, with an amused grin. 

“Awesome,” Clarke nods. “And wonderful. And beautiful. And amazing and incredible and--” she cuts herself off when she realizes neither of them is smiling anymore. “I don’t want this to end,” she finishes, in a broken whisper. 

Lexa tries to tell herself it won’t seem this tragic in a year. Two. Five. A decade. But that doesn’t help at all, because that makes her think of all the years she’ll have to live without Clarke, and it’s all the more heartbreaking. “I know,” she whispers back. “Me too. I – me too.” 

“What if I…” Clarke swallows, hesitating before continuing. “What if I visit you. Sometimes. If you -- want.”

And – she does, God, she does, so much, but that would make this so much harder. She’s seen how bitter the long distance can make relationships become. She doesn’t want that for them. But she doesn’t want to leave her, either. She doesn’t want her to  _ forget _ her. Them. 

They are only seventeen. This shouldn’t be the end of the world. Why does it feel like it? 

“I do,” she decides to say. “But I also think that would make everything so much more complicated.” 

“Right,” Clarke snorts, and there’s a glimpse of the old her – of their old dynamic in her voice. “Because right now this is easy-peasy.” 

“That’s why I said  _ so much more, _ ” Lexa points out, and Clarke sighs as she leaves a kiss on her collarbone. 

“I can’t even stay mad at you. This is so unfair.” 

“If it’s any consolation, I can’t even  _ get _ mad at you.” Lexa slides down and lies on her side so they are face to face. 

“This is a very dangerous piece of information,” Clarke grins, and Lexa pretends not to notice how hollow it looks.

“It is.” 

Clarke’s thumb trembles when it caresses her cheek.

She’ll figure something out. She has to. 

Chapter 7

The sun is high when she wakes up. For a moment, she simply lies there, watching the way the light streams through the window, making dust particles that dance in it into something magical. Clarke’s still sleeping. She can tell from the way she breathes, deep and even and undisturbed. Her weight on her chest is pleasantly heavy. Grounding. Letting her know she’s really there, and it’s not a cruel dream she’s about to wake up from. 

Except it is, she thinks suddenly. All of this is a cruel dream, and they’ll be jostled out of it once summer ends. 

It used to be her least favorite season. Perhaps, she’ll start disliking it even more when they part ways. Every summer after this one will be unbearable because each one will remind her of Clarke. Clarke  _ is _ summer, Lexa realizes in her sleepy haze as she watches the sleeping girl. Her hair is the sun and her eyes are the sky and the lake and her body is the warm beach she’ll never get tired of exploring. 

She doesn’t realize her grip on Clarke is becoming tighter until she shifts in her arms, growing uncomfortable. 

“…Lex?” Her name is murmured in a raspy whisper, still laced with sleep. 

Lexa swallows at the fluttering of her heart in her restless chess. “Hey,” she whispers back. “Good morning.” 

Her soft smile is the only greeting she needs. 

*** 

They shower together. Clarke shampoos her hair and keeps letting out those little sighs when Lexa washes her back, making her cut their shower short and drag her back to bed. Judging by her self-satisfied grin, Lexa played right into it. But she’s definitely not complaining. 

This is entirely too domestic to not end in heartbreak; but by now, that’s kind of inevitable. She’s embraced it. She thinks Clarke has, too. The abandon with which they throw themselves into this is both exciting and terrifying. Makes sense, she thinks. The feelings she has are exactly that. 

After a week, Clarke stops leaving altogether. They run into her friends from time to time at the lake and, aside from Bellamy’s jumbled apology that they quickly accept, they don’t exchange more than a wave and a nod with them. Clarke’s friends seem to accept that. Perhaps, they, just like Lexa, understand it’s not going to last long anyway. A couple more weeks, and she’ll be out of their hair, and Clarke will be back to her old self. As good reasoning as any to let them be. And Lexa’s never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

*** 

Everything comes to a head one lazy summer afternoon. Clarke and her just came back from a quick morning swim and have settled on the porch swing, with Clarke draping herself over it and resting her head in her lap. She’s gently running her fingers through blonde hair while reading, and blue eyes are sparkling up at her every time she drops her gaze to meet Clarke’s smiling one. At first, she found it weird – her tendency to just stare at her. It’s unnerving even for someone normal. She quickly got used to it, though. Clarke’s not staring at her to intimidate or to find something to laugh about. She’s studying her. Admiring her, like a piece of art – judging by her gaze, an outstanding one. She’s looking at her like she’s something exquisite and otherworldly, and Lexa’s never thought of herself as someone worthy of such a stare. Yet Clarke seems to think she is. 

She’s never felt  _ so _ much with anyone. It’s indescribable. It’s not just love. It’s appreciation and respect and this huge desire to know everything about her and maybe that’s what love  _ is _ but Lexa doesn’t exactly have anything to compare it to. It’s just her luck she fell in love with someone she probably won’t see ever again after these two weeks are over. 

If Clarke said a word, she’d move across the country for her. She’s sure of it, now. But Clarke hasn’t said anything. Aside from offering to visit her from time to time, which honestly can imply anything else but love. You don’t have to be in love to like the sex, right? Like it enough to occasionally  _ visit. _

She blinks and shuts the thought down, instead telling herself to relax and enjoy the afternoon. Except the Universe clearly has other plans. And so does Finn. Like all unwanted guests, he shows up unannounced; and there’s an undercurrent of annoyance with him. 

“Clarke,” he says in lieu of a greeting. “Can we talk?” 

Lexa hides a smirk when Clarke doesn’t even look his way, instead raising her hand and softly brushing Lexa’s hair behind her ear. “I’m busy.” 

She doesn’t need to look at Finn to know he’s rolling his eyes. But she still does. Someone has to be the bigger person. “Hello, Finn,” she states coolly, studying his faux bored expression. Her puts his hands in his short pockets, nodding. 

“Hey. Can I talk to Clarke in private?” 

“I believe Clarke can speak for herself.” At that, he scoffs, but doesn’t reply. 

“I sure can.” Clarke finally turns her head to the side, not rising from her position in Lexa’s lap, and looks at him. “Fuck off.” 

He doesn’t seem too impressed. “Really? Fine. You don’t want to talk, I will. Stop hiding out here and come back to your friends. We came here together and you ditched us over something petty. Raven’s feeling super guilty, and for no reason. Just because you don’t want her to be happy--”

Lexa’s always prided herself on having great reflexes, but they fail her at the crucial moment, and she’s not fast enough to stop Clarke when she springs to her feet and advances on Finn, shoving him, hard enough for him to stumble. “Shut your hole,” she practically growls, ready to pounce. It doesn’t look like Finn is going to back down, either, and Lexa shakes her head, closing her book and jumping up to gently hold Clarke back by her shoulders. 

“Clarke, don’t.” 

To her surprise, the girl doesn’t immediately shrug her off. She relaxes at her touch, letting out a long breath, and Lexa keeps one hand on her lower back, rubbing small, soothing circles, as she comes to stand next to her, staring Finn down. “I think you should leave,” she says calmly. 

He glares. “This doesn’t concern you.” 

“That’s where you’re wrong.” 

“Please,” he sneers, with an unpleasant chuckle. “You think you’re special cause she lets you fuck her? I’d say what--” 

Fortunately for Finn, he doesn’t get to finish his sentence, so they will never know what he wanted to say. If he did, Lexa would’ve probably punched him a lot harder. 

“Holy shit,” Clarke states behind her, but she sounds more pleased than shocked. If there was ever the time to use the expression  _ pleasantly surprised, _ now would be it. 

Finn hits the ground, clutching the left side of his face and groaning in pain. He touches his jaw, gingerly, and spits. It’s red with his blood, but Lexa’s not surprised. She towers over him, buzzing with the unfamiliar kind of anger, hands curled in fists at her side, mostly to stop herself from hitting him again than getting ready for another attack. 

“Are you fucking crazy?” Finn explodes, scrambling to get up. His features are twisted with pain, and Lexa’s surprised to find herself snarling in grim satisfaction. 

“I think,” she repeats again, her voice much lower, “that you should leave.” 

He touches his jaw again, wincing when his fingers make contact with the fast-forming bruise. Then, his eyes narrow, and Lexa inwardly sighs because she thinks she knows where this is going. It’s not hard to figure out given Finn’s tendency to be an idiot. 

He attacks suddenly, sneakily, with no honor or respect. Or, at the very least, he hopes it’s sneaky. It’s clear he’s not a trained fighter. But Lexa is, and she sees him coming a mile away. Dodging his hooks is easy. He’s angry, and that anger is blinding him, making him sloppy in his rage. Inside, Lexa’s trying not to laugh at each failed attempt. 

But Clarke’s not finding this funny anymore. “Finn, stop!” She pushes at his shoulder, almost missing and losing her balance. In his furious determination to get to Lexa, he simply shoves Clarke away, and she cries out when her back collides with the door. That sobers Lexa up instantly, and she hurries to her side, not paying Finn any attention anymore. 

Things unfold at a lightning speed after that. She’s nearing Clarke when one of Finn’s clumsy shots reaches its target. For a second, the world goes dark. He got lucky. Incredibly lucky. Her head is buzzing and there’s flaming hot pain concentrated around her eye. She raises her hand to feel it, still hazy. It’s sticky and wet. He must’ve cut her brow. That’s not good. 

_ Clarke, _ she thinks, and briefly shakes her head, forcing herself to concentrate. Finn’s standing in front of her, not looking too victorious. In fact, he’s horrified. There must be a lot of blood. 

“Fuck,” he mutters. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I – I don’t know what--” 

“Leave,” she simply tells him, and he finally complies, breaking into a run as soon as he’s off the porch.  _ Clarke. _ She’s suspiciously silent. When Lexa turns around, she realizes why – Clarke is frozen, one hand covering her mouth that’s probably open in shock, and her eyes are quickly filling up with tears. 

Lexa shifts from one foot to another, awkwardly. Embarrassment hits her like a brick – here she is, a trained athlete, losing to someone like Finn, and in front of a girl she likes, no less. She sighs, letting defeat wash over her. Perfect. Just perfect. 

She doesn’t really know what to say. Thankfully, Clarke figures it out first. “Lexa,” she chokes out, and it sounds like a sob. Lexa twitches at that, not expecting the thought of her crying to be this unbearable. She moves to comfort her, but Clarke’s ahead of her again, running to her and gingerly cupping her face in her hands. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “It’s all because of me, I’m so sorry – does it hurt? Of course it fucking hurts, there’s – there’s so much fucking blood. Oh my God. Oh God.” It seems like Clarke’s quickly approaching hysteria state, and Lexa acts fast, grasping her wrists and gently squeezing. 

“Clarke,” she says, carefully. “I’m fine. I just need to wash the blood out and put a bandage over the cut. It doesn’t hurt too bad.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Clarke repeats, regretfully. Her thumb brushes over Lexa’s collarbone, and then, she steps away, taking her hand. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up, and then I’m gonna kill Finn.” 

***

Turns out Clarke doesn’t have to leave Lexa’s house if she’s indeed planned on carrying her threat out. Finn comes back half an hour later, trudging after a furious Raven. Lexa sees them when she returns to the porch to wipe the blood off the floor. 

This isn’t gonna end well. Lexa wonders, as she studies Raven’s angry expression, what exactly was it that Finn’s told her. As soon as their eyes meet, however, Raven’s rage disappears, and instead, there’s guilt written all over her face. Lexa realizes, then, that her anger wasn’t directed at her, or Clarke. Only at her boyfriend. 

“I’m so sorry, Lexa,” she starts, walking over to her and enveloping her in an unexpected hug. “Finn’s a fucking idiot. I told him not to bother you guys, but… He’s an idiot.” She throws a glare over her shoulder, making Finn shrink. “Are you just gonna stand there?” 

Clarke chooses this exact moment to walk out of the house. It looks like a scene from a particularly bad comedy, Lexa decides. “Um,” blue eyes narrow as Clarke’s gaze zeroes in on Raven’s arms around Lexa. She ignores Finn completely. “What’s going on?”

“Hey, Clarke.” Raven lets go of Lexa, clearing her throat. “I’m so sorry about what happened.” 

Clarke crosses her arms over her chest, her scowl deepening. “You weren’t the one who punched her in the fucking  _ eye, _ ” she says, pointing at the bandage covering Lexa’s eyebrow cut. 

“No, I wasn’t,” Raven agrees. They both look at Finn, then, their angry expressions matching. He swallows. 

“Guys, I’m really sorry about this whole thing. I don’t know what came over me. I just…” He trails off, sighing. “I’m sorry.” 

“Take that apology and shove it up your ass,” Clarke growls. Lexa sighs. She anticipated something like that. But Finn looks like he’s genuinely remorseful, and grudges have never been her thing, anyway. She puts her hand on Clarke’s arm, finding her gaze with her own. She sees it, then. Underneath her anger and her fury, there is fear. For her. 

_ I’m scared, _ Clarke’s eyes tell her.  _ You got hurt because of me, and I’m so scared. _

_ I know, _ she tries to tell her.  _ But I’m okay now. _

She looks at Finn, impassively. “I accept your apology. Please don’t come back here again.” 

“Ever,” Clarke adds, but he merely nods, defeated. 

“I’ll go, too,” Raven speaks up, making everyone look at her. “And I’m sorry, too.” 

“Did you ask him to come get me?” Clarke’s question is buzzing with irritation. Yet, there’s hope, too; hope that she’s wrong. 

And, thankfully, she is. Raven shakes her head, eyes widening. “No, no, I told him  _ not _ to do that. But I could’ve stopped him. I should’ve known he wouldn’t listen.” 

Finn hangs his head even lower, and all of it is starting to resemble a puppy execution. Lexa clears her throat. “You’re welcome to come back if you want,” she says. “We’d like a text in advance, but other than that…”

Raven smirks. “Gotcha. I will.” She glances at Clarke, but the blonde looks away, grasping Lexa’s hand and squeezing. “Right. We’ll go.” 

Their departure is silent. Raven pushes Finn away when he tries to support her, and Clarke’s grip on Lexa’s hand is bordering on painful. And Lexa’s still not entirely sure what she just got herself into. 

Chapter 8

_ Clarke’s lying on the ground. She’s not moving, and there’s so, so much blood. Lexa tries not to think about how sticky and sickeningly hot it is on her fingers as she tries to find her pulse. It’s faint – so faint she almost misses it – but it’s there, and Lexa finally, painfully lets out the breath she was holding. With it, come the terrified sobs.  _

_ Help. She needs help.  _

_ Her legs effortlessly carry her to the road. She’s waving her arms like crazy when she sees a car; it almost drives by, and she’s ready to collapse with exhaustion, but they stop, and a couple climbs out, looking concerned.  _

_ “Please,” she babbles, not able to control her shivers. “She’s hurt. Please, help us, please.”  _

_ “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” the young man tries to calm her down, grabbing her shoulders and making her meet his eyes. “Who’s hurt? What are you talking about?”  _

_ Lexa blinks. Looks around, and she’s in the woods again, but Clarke’s not there. She’s nowhere to be seen, and when Lexa returns her bewildered gaze to the man, she recoils in surprise. Bellamy stares back at her, strangely solemn. How did she not recognize him?  _

_ “What…”  _

_ “Lexa.” It’s Clarke, but she’s not on the ground anymore. She’s standing there, and all of her friends are standing behind her. There are various wounds covering her body. With so much blood lost, she shouldn’t be able to stand, and yet, she does, watching her with the same sad, stoic expression that her friends are wearing. _

_ “I wanted it to be real,” she whispers, and Lexa wakes up. _

“Lexa!” Someone’s shaking her shoulders. They sound urgent, and scared. “Lexa, wake up! Oh my God,” Clarke’s face framed by her unruly blonde locks comes into focus as Lexa blinks herself awake. “You scared the shit out of me. You were screaming. Are you okay?” 

“Yeah.” She shakes her head, trying and failing to make sense of her bizarre dream. “Yeah, I – it was a bad dream. A weird bad dream.” 

Clarke slowly lets out a breath and settles back next to her, carefully watching her with alert eyes. “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

“It was mostly gibberish,” Lexa says quietly as she stares at the ceiling. Images of Clarke covered in blood flash before her eyes, and she squeezes them shut, rubbing her face. “You were there. With your friends. You were -- ghosts, I think.” 

Clarke chuckles, awkwardly. “Ghosts?” 

“Yeah. You all died here, at the lake, and you come back every summer.” 

“Huh.” She turns her head to meet Clarke’s thoughtful gaze. “It could be true, you know. I mean, you’ve never seen us outside of here. But then again, you could be the ghost.” Blue eyes flash with cheeky amusement. 

Lexa gives her a muted grin before leaning in and slowly pressing her lips to hers. “Do I feel like a ghost?” 

“Do I?” Clarke echoes back at her, with a breathless chuckle that Lexa returns. “Were you screaming because we scared you? In the dream?” 

Lexa shakes her head. “No. You were hurt.” 

Clarke’s smile grows, and her kisses grow heated and urgent, and Lexa thinks she must’ve said something right. 

*** 

It rains their last week there, and Lexa thinks it seems fitting. It might be corny, but it’s poetic, too. The unbearable heat gave way to the relieving cool of the early autumn. She’s never felt this bittersweet. 

It’s the last week she has with the girl she’s falling for. She thinks about giving it all up and moving to Clarke’s town more than a couple of times a day. She wonders if Clarke’s thinking the same. But it doesn’t matter what they think. It’s too big of a decision to be up to them. No parent in their right mind would allow their child to do that over a summer fling. 

Except it feels more like fate, and Lexa can’t shake it off no matter how much she tries. Which, admittedly, isn’t a lot. Neither does Clarke. She sees it in her eyes, big and sad and blue, when she curls up next to her and holds her like she never wants to let her go. 

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Lexa tells her one day. “I’m sorry.” 

“Out of all the things to apologize for,” Clarke whispers, “this isn’t one of them. “ She pauses, and looks at her – really  _ looks _ at her, as if she's seeing her for her very first time and she's the masterpiece worthy of museums. “I though I’ve been in love before, you know,” she tells her, then, and her thumb down Lexa’s cheek paints something they can’t have. “I’ve never been more wrong.” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before I met you,” Lexa tells her, truthfully, and that’s how they let each other know. They never do say the words out loud, but it feels right that way. That way, there’s this bitter note of  _ unfinishedness. _ They are to forever be in a state of  _ almost _ , and Lexa would think it was beautiful if her heart weren’t busy breaking. Maybe she will think of it as something beautiful; untouchable and ethereal. In a decade, she’ll look back and remember everything they’ve shared, and she’ll smile at her own dramatic thoughts. Maybe, she’ll wonder, absentmindedly, where Clarke is now and what she’s up to. Maybe, they’ll meet again, both moved on and with other people, and they’ll share a secret smile over dinner that won’t ever lead to a second one. Maybe. 

For now, though, Clarke’s trying not to cry in her arms, and she’s trying to hold them together as much as she can. 

*** 

Raven comes over unannounced and uninvited, as is tradition among Clarke’s friends. She chose the exact moment when Clarke begrudgingly left to gather her things at her cabin. They are leaving in a couple of days. Lexa’s trying not to think about it. 

“Hey.” When Lexa nods, but doesn’t say anything, Raven invites herself to plop next to her on the porch swing. She ignores Lexa’s sigh. “I broke up with Finn.” 

“Congratulations,” Lexa says, sincerely. She’ll probably have a scar left after their last run in. “I mean it.” 

“I know you do,” Raven scoffs, but it’s without malice. “What about you?” 

Lexa blinks. “Oh. I never dated Finn.” 

“Girl,” Raven lets out a loud laugh. “You don’t even try to be funny, do you?” 

She blinks again. “Do you think I do?” 

“Doubt that,” Raven admits. She kicks at the ground, trying to get the swing to move, but Lexa firmly puts her foot down. Raven sighs. “Alright. Look. Finn’s an asshole. Occasionally, he means well, but occasionally’s not good enough. He’s also trying to have his cake and eat it too, and as much as I love Clarke, I’m not ready for a polyamorous relationship. And something tells me Finn’s no longer in the picture for her, either.” Raven’s gaze is sharp and understanding and amused. “Obviously, he won’t get the memo for a while, but he’s as good as gone. Don’t worry.” 

“I’m not,” Lexa replies. “Clarke’s free to do what she wants. She won’t see me again in a few days.” 

“Fucking knew it,” Raven sighs, and reaches inside the pocket of her jean shorts. “Here,” she thrusts a piece of paper in Lexa’s hand, and she’s too bewildered to try and give it back. “This is her number, e-mail, hell, I even wrote down her home address for you. So I really hope you’re not secretly a psycho.” 

“It’s not exactly a secret,” Lexa quips, and, okay, maybe this time she does try to be funny. Raven seems to appreciate it, if another short outburst of laughter is anything to go by. 

“I had a feeling you guys decided to be dumb and not try anything after summer is over,” she tells her. “And I can understand that. But I also need you to understand that it’s been a while since I saw Clarke this happy.” She nods at the piece of paper clutches in Lexa’s hand. “Consider this an apology for my ex-boyfriend’s stunt.” 

“You don’t have to apologize for him,” Lexa tells her. But puts the paper in her pocket, and tries not to pay too much attention to her own elevated heartbeat. 

By the time they finish chatting about everything and nothing in particular, there’s Raven’s number added under Clarke’s. 

*** 

She’s not exactly hoping for their last night together to be a joyful experience – she’s not delusional. But she doesn’t expect it to be this heart-wrenching. Teen hormones, she tells herself. It’ll pass in a year. She’ll forget about Clarke, and Clarke will forget about her. 

But something about this feels so  _ final _ and  _ real _ and it hurts like nothing did before, and what if this is  _ it _ and they’ve just been fortunate – or unfortunate – enough to find it so young? She’s never really believed in the concept of one true love, but now that she might be staring it right in the face… Belief stops being such when it’s right in front of you, doesn’t it? 

She returns Clarke’s desperate kisses and thinks about the piece of paper in her pocket, and thinks and thinks and thinks. 

*** 

In the end, she’s not strong enough. She watches Clarke drive off, and she doesn’t run after her. Instead, she turns around when the car’s gone from her view, and she goes home. Once at the cabin, she methodically cleans up, packs, and makes sure to lock the door before climbing in her car and carefully pulling out of her spot. 

In the rearview mirror, the cabin and the lake grow smaller and smaller and smaller, until she takes a turn and they disappear, as if they never were. 

Lexa finds herself thinking that would be for the best of everyone involved. 

Her family’s back from their trip earlier than anticipated. They warmly greet her when she gets home; her father’s awkward as usual, and Meredith’s smile is sincere in its happiness, and Anya’s muted smirk tells her more than words can. Everything’s the same. Everything’s great. She’s back to her life, and summer’s nearing its logical end. 

For the first time in what feels like forever, she’s grateful to be known for her antisocial tendencies, because no one questions it when she quickly excuses herself to go to her room. And there, she runs into her bathroom, turns on the tap, and cries. 

*** 

She takes out the piece of paper Raven gave her, and stares at it. She doesn’t unfold it. Her mind should be filled with thoughts about the upcoming school year. College applications and fencing tournaments are ahead. Before summer, she couldn’t wait to get to it. 

The school starts in two days, and she’s just sitting on the couch and hypnotizes a folded paper slip. If she -- if she were to call. Theoretically. What would she even tell her? 

_ I miss you. I wish you were here. I-- _

“Alright.” Anya’s booming voice startles her, and she blinks as she tries to calm down. Her sister squints at her from the doorway as she leans against the doorpost, arms crossed. “What happened at the lake? You came back all weird.” 

“More so than I was before?” Lexa asks dryly, curling her hand in a fist and clutching the paper inside. 

“You weren’t weird before,” Anya says. She lets her arms hang at her sides as she steps into the living room and walks over to the couch, plopping down next to her. The sit there in silence while Anya stares at Lexa and Lexa stares at her fist. 

“You’re starting to freak me out.” Anya nods at her hand. “What is it?” When Lexa doesn’t answer, she sighs, shaking her head. “I’m leaving for college tomorrow, Lex. Something’s clearly bothering you, but I won’t be able to help when I’m several thousand miles away.” 

Lexa moves her jaw, considering her options. She doesn’t want to tell anyone about Clarke. As if she possesses something precious that no one else can know about or they’ll try to take it away from her. She doesn’t want to -- share her. Even if it’s just a memory of Clarke, she wants it all to herself. 

But this is also something she’s not sure she’ll be able to go through alone. 

She relaxes her hand, letting it uncurl and reveal the neatly folded slip of paper. “It’s a phone number,” she says, trying to keep her voice even. “And a home address. And another phone number but that one is irrelevant to the dilemma I’m having.” 

“Dilemma,” Anya snorts, before the realization dawns on her and her eyes go wide. “Wait, you met a girl at the lake?” When Lexa nods, she whistles. “Damn. Now I wish I’d gone with you.” 

“Actually,” Lexa says slowly, “I think you would’ve loved it there. She was with a group of friends.” 

“Hot friends?” Anya asks, grinning. 

She thinks about Raven and her sparkling eyes. “Good friends,” she says. “Also some dumb friends, too. You would’ve had a blast torturing some of them.” 

“Well, shit,” Anya grumbles. “You scored and I didn’t. The world as we know it is truly over.” She sobers up quickly when she notices Lexa’s not chuckling with her. Her nudge is soft. “So why are you sitting here staring at it and not in your room enjoying a free show? Or – oh.” Her expression grows sympathetically understanding. “She’s way more into you than you are into her and now you feel guilty you don’t want to give her a call even though she’s expecting one?” 

Lexa blinks. “What? No,” she gives Anya an odd look. “If that were the case, I wouldn’t have accepted the number.” She decides not to mention that the girl in question wasn’t the one to give it to her. 

“Then…” Anya thinks it over, pursing her lips. “Is it the other way around? Did you beg for that number and now you’re afraid she’ll hang up on you or pretend not to remember you and call you  _ Alex? _ ” 

“Have a good day,” Lexa tells her and tries to stand up, but Anya grabs her hand and forces her to sit down, laughing. 

“Alright, I’m sorry – I’m sorry! But you’re not giving me a lot to work with here.” Her concerned brown eyes meet Lexa’s apprehensive green ones. “Lex. Tell me.” 

She doesn’t look at Anya as she slowly unfolds the paper and stares at the number she’s memorized by heart the very first day she got it. “I think I fell in love.” 

“But that’s a good thing,” Anya says, confused. She frowns when Lexa doesn’t answer. “Right?”

“She lives several states away from here, An,” she says, letting out a humorless laugh. “It’s a good thing – and it sucks.” 

Her sister has never been great with words – only a little better than Lexa – but she’s always been great at hugs and at silence that’s accepting instead of deafening. And now, she wordlessly lets Lexa curl up at her side and let the tears loose, and she doesn’t question nor comments anymore as she slowly combs her fingers through her hair. 

She advises her to call Clarke when Lexa finally cries her heart out and pulls away, embarrassed. But Lexa shakes her head. She can’t do that. She can’t storm into Clarke’s life like that, because what if she’s been trying to move on this entire time? After all, she wasn’t the one who gave her the number. 

*** 

In the end, perhaps, she should’ve seen this coming. Because Clarke is stubborn and wonderfully defiant of anything that stands in her way; but also because everything they’ve had felt too much like fate to think it’ll simply end. 

School is pretty much the same when she walks through the doors for the first time in three months. Loud and bursting with chatter and laughter, its hallways full of people excitedly sharing about their summers. She lasts exactly two minutes before slamming her locker shut and hurrying out of the building. Breaking into a run, she rounds the corner, where she stops and leans against the brick wall, throwing her head back and squeezing her eyes shut. 

_ Clarke. _

Throwing her number out was no use. It’s forever etched in her brain, and she’s proven that when she fishes her phone out of her pocket with unsteady hands and punches it in. 

_ Just to hear her voice. Just this once.  _

Instead of rings, she’s greeted with an expressionless robotic voice. “ _ The number you have dialed is unavailable--”  _

“Fuck!” Lexa exclaims, startling a group of freshmen walking past her. They glance at her and then at each other, whispering something, but she doesn’t care. It’s off. Clarke must’ve turned it off when she learned Raven gave it to her, and-- 

She feels like she’s suffocating. Everything she’s feeling is hitting her, all at once – the fresh pain of the heartbreak and the love she has for a girl who might not want it, and yet she still misses her so  _ much, _ but she’s lost the last possible thread, and she can’t do this today. She can’t do this here. She has to get out of here, because this is all too fucking much. So she runs. She doesn’t care what people might think of her, and she doesn’t care if the school will call her father to notify him that she’s missed the first day. She’s too overwhelmed to even pay attention to her surroundings. 

(Later, she’ll wonder if fate really does exist, because everything that happens falls into place perfectly enough to support that.) 

It’s a head-on collision. A little different than the first time it happened. But everything else is the same – a warm body under her and blonde hair scattered on the ground and wide blue eyes staring up at her with nothing but awe. Lexa’s no better. 

When it becomes apparent that she’s not going to say anything any time soon, Clarke cracks a weak grin. “Well,” she murmurs. “Motherfucker.” 

“I, uh,” Lexa finally manages to get her mouth to work. “I’m sorry.” With that, she scrambles to get to her feet and offers Clarke a hand, effortlessly hauling her up. 

“Whoa,” Clarke’s grin grows wider, even though it still stays unsure. “I missed this.” 

“I missed you,” Lexa truthfully tells her, before shaking her head. What’s going on? Is she so upset she’s experiencing vivid hallucinations? “What – why are you here?” Immediately upon seeing a crestfallen look on Clarke’s face, she realizes it sounded unreasonably harsh, and she hurries to fix it. “I mean – I can’t believe you’re here. I’ve been dreaming of this.” As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she cringes. It seems she can either do a total jerk or an absolute moron. There’s no in-between. 

But Clarke’s blue eyes shine, and maybe she found the right words after all. “You’re not going to believe this and you’ll probably think I’m a stalker or something, but I swear it’s true. My mom got relocated to the Whitmore Hospital. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t exactly call you since we never exchanged numbers or anything.” 

Lexa nods. “Oh,” she says, “I did try to call you. Just now. But your phone’s off.” 

“I changed my number.” Clarke winces. “Because of Finn. A little childish, I know, but I just – wanted to start anew, I guess. Wait,” she frowns prettily, and it takes a  _ tremendous _ effort on Lexa’s part not to kiss her right then and there. Come to think of it, why hasn’t she kissed her right then and there yet? “You have my number?” 

“I’ll explain,” Lexa breathes out, and entwines her arms around Clarke’s waist to tug her closer and capture her lips in a desperately craved kiss. 

*** 

They walk back into the school hand in hand. Clarke really wants to skip, but she guiltily explains that her mom will blow up if she gets a call from the principal on her first day. Lexa doesn’t care. They will have many more days together. She still can’t quite believe her luck, but perhaps luck has nothing to do with this. Perhaps, luck has teamed up with fate. Point is, Clarke’s here. 

They share the first class together. The seats are assigned, unfortunately, but at least she’s in close proximity to her. Clarkе keeps throwing her looks full of awed happiness, as if she’s having a hard time believing this herself, and she can relate. 

In the middle of the class, a girl next to her quietly calls her name and gives her a hastily folded note. Lexa raises her eyebrow but accepts, not wanting to make a scene. She really hopes Clarke doesn’t jump to any conclusions. After all, she barely knows the girl. 

But Clarke’s gaze is expectant when she meets it before reading the note, so she guesses it was her who passed it along. Once she reads it and snaps her head up to find blue eyes again, they are bright and impossibly tender, and Lexa can’t look away. It’s only when the teacher asks Clarke something and she breaks their eye contact that she’s forced to do so, and her gaze falls to the piece of sheet torn from the legal pad. 

_ I love you, _ she mouths the words scribbled on it to herself, and smiles. 

**Author's Note:**

> catch me at [my tumblr](http://geralehane.tumblr.com), i post stories and accept prompt for different pairing and link original content (and some easter eggs from all of my aus)


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